


A Profound Connection

by SKayLanphear



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Sex, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:23:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 128,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SKayLanphear/pseuds/SKayLanphear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Destiel short stories, one-shots, and drabbles.</p><p>Ratings posted per fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas check into a motel following the confrontation with the Rit Zien, the angel murdering people after zeroing in on their pain. What happens between them that night is more than either had anticipated, but perhaps not wholly unexpected. Takes place during S09 EP06, "Heaven Can't Wait." 
> 
> Rated M for sexual content.
> 
> Top!Dean Bottom!Cas.

He did feel kind of bad for the guy. In a patronizing, pitying way – which was why he wasn't saying anything. He wasn't quite positive, because he hadn't been there, but it wasn't too difficult to put the pieces together. He'd only burst in on that woman's house because the light had been on, and the truck of course. He'd expected to find Cas with his lady friend, maybe doing unseemly things. Not with a baby.

It was funny, in a cute way, that Cas had so terribly misunderstood what was happening with his "date." Babysitting wasn't exactly Dean's idea of a romantic getaway after all. And he had the feeling, based on the way Cas was sitting at the end of his bed refusing to say anything, that he was ashamed of his own mistake. After he'd gone on that long charade of how well he was doing as Steve, and then boasted about his date, well, anyone would be embarrassed.

Especially since there'd been a layer of defensiveness lacing his words concerning the matter.

This last bit made Dean feel guilty, more so than anything. Part of him practically lurched forward, as if wanting to spill his guts all over the floor. Yet the thought of Sam, and Ezekiel, stopped him. He'd made the decision to kick Cas out of the bunker and it was a choice he still stood by. He thought. He hadn't  _had_  a choice, right? Because if he hadn't made his friend leave, the angel inside Sammy would have run off. And Sam always came first. If Cas had his powers, he'd be the one healing his little brother, but he didn't, and Dean had had to make some choices.

Even if they did make him feel like a horrible, despicable human being.

Still quite blatantly staring at Cas's profile, he tightened his lips at the dejected, hopeless expression torn there. Like this failed date, and what had transpired with that crazy ass angel, had ripped Cas's whole world apart. Or, rather, the new existence he'd made for himself.

Dean gulped.

"Hey, look here," Dean forced one of his trademark smiles onto his face as he stood. "This is my kind of motel. Mini bar and everything." Going to the fridge on the far side of the room, he cracked it open, pulled out a bottle, and popped the top. He looked to Cas after, whose sad, droopy eyes had turned up to watch him. "You want one?"

"Sure," he replied, voice heavy and dead. Pursing his lips, Dean retrieved another before kicking the fridge closed and making his way over to Cas. Sitting down on the bed beside him, he pried off the cap to Cas's bottle before handing it to him.

"Hey, don't be so broken up." He'd try the old pep talk. "I've been turned down by plenty of women. I know that may sound surprising," another smile, but Cas wasn't looking at him, "but it's true." He took a drink. A long, cold, guilty drink.

"You don't have to stay here Dean," Cas cut right through the outside pleasantries, still refusing to meet Dean's eye, which caused the other man's expression to falter with unease. "I'm perfectly fine going back to the Gas-N-Sip. I've been sleeping there since I got the job."

"Hey now," Dean was finding it more and more difficult to remain forcefully positive. Maybe that was his own punishment. Cas was homeless after all, and it was his fault. "Don't refuse a night of pure luxury," he patted the bed, "and… top notch beverages." He held up the beer, thankful when Cas finally looked up at him.

He smiled again, hoping it'd do… something.

"I  _can_  take care of myself," Cas replied, that hint of defensiveness back in his voice again. The sound of it was like a knife constantly poking Dean in the rips. "I don't need charity." The way he said it though, it was accusing. He didn't need  _Dean's_  charity. Not after he'd been the one to kick him out on his own in the first place. Without anything and barely any knowledge of how to function as a human. He didn't want help, and he wanted it least from Dean.

"C'mon Cas," Dean said quietly, finally beginning to give in a little. "I know this is a shitty situation. Really. But you are doing pretty well." Sort of. "Don't refuse a bed just because you're pissed at me." He took another long drink, not surprised when he pulled the bottle back to see it already below half. Hey, he drank his stress.

"I'm not 'pissed' at you Dean."

"Don't lie Cas, you're not any good at it."

"That's not true!"

Dean cocked a single, skeptical brow, which resulted in Cas dropping his shoulders in a defeated sigh.

"I'm not angry with you Dean," he persisted, both of them knowing better. Still, it wasn't the lasting kind of anger. Cas wasn't the type to hold grudges, at least against Dean. Never against Dean. Time, that was what he needed. "I'm just frustrated."

Dean pooched his lips thoughtfully before taking a deep breath. "Yeah, I get that. Being human isn't all pie and… pizzamen." He smirked, more so because Cas had scoffed a chuckle and a small smile than because his comment had been funny.

"Dates are something humans do," Cas started after a moment, finally taking a drink. "I fear I'm going to make about as good a human as I did an angel." Which wasn't a compliment.

"Hey, you're new to this," Dean reached around and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Give yourself some credit. And besides…" He cleared his throat, his hand falling away to land back around his beer. "Guys like us, well, we're not exactly the type a woman like her – Nora?" Cas nodded, "not exactly the kind of guys a chick like her would go for."

He took another drink, Cas casting him a questioning look. Which was message enough for Dean to continue.

"She's a single mom, you know, with a full time job," he looked at Cas knowingly. "And you're a, well, like you said, you're a sales associate." Cas wasn't understanding what he was alluding to. "That not a good investment, you know?"

"You mean that… that going on a date with me wouldn't be wise?"

"For someone in her situation, yeah. She's looking for things that guys like you and me can't give her. A woman like that, with a kid, she's not going to be looking for sales associates."

"I don't understand," Cas admitted. "I mean, I understand what you're saying about me, but you keep referring to yourself as well." Naturally, that was what drew Cas's concern, not his own financial stability, or lack of it. "You were with Lisa, and Ben."

"Yeah, and I wasn't any good for them," he replied bitterly. "It's the same kind of thing. Lisa just… didn't know any better." Cas still wasn't totally comprehending, the way his head tilted making that totally clear. "All I know is hunting and cars. I've got a GED; I'm a grunt. I had a construction job, sure, but the baggage otherwise was too heavy." He was thoughtful, a scene from one of those musicals he secretly watched coming to mind. "Everybody's got baggage. The knack is finding some that goes with yours. Girls like Lisa, and Nora, their baggage isn't the kind that goes with ours. They've got those fancy, rolling suitcases – kinda empty, but full of expectation. You and me, we're more like duffels. Easy to move from place to place, stuffed full of useless shit, not much room for anything else. And nothing good to give otherwise."

Cas contemplated his words for a moment, watching as he raised his beer to his mouth again and took a drink. It was nearly empty. The thought reminded him of his own, spurring him to also take a sip of the harsh tasting liquid before speaking. "You're being a little hard on yourself, don't you think?"

"What?"

"It was a poetic metaphor," because Dean could speak quite eloquently, and intelligently, when he wanted to, "but not entirely true. Maybe you're right about compatibility, but I know you have plenty to offer that's useful."

"Cars and monsters," Dean nodded, his expression somewhat sour. "That's it."

"That's not what I was referring to. Maybe I'm not the most successful human, but I'd be lost completely were it not for what I learned from you." Dean's brows furrowed. "Of all the humans I've met, you're the best example I've come across."

"Ha!" His laugher came out as cynical. "Yeah, okay." Dean finished off his beer. "I don't know about that," Cas was frowning at him, "but I guess if you managed to learn something, that's good."

"You should give yourself more credit."

Dean waved him off as he stood, which didn't much reassure Cas, but he supposed it was better to drop the subject. He knew Dean didn't like talking about such things, which was why Cas had become accustomed to reading his expressions. Still, he did pride himself on getting more out of Dean than most.

Dropping his empty bottle into the trash by the fridge, Dean soon retrieved another before going to the small television sitting on the stand in the corner. The remote was sitting on top, so he grabbed it before heading back over to the bed. Sitting on Cas's left, he switched on the tube, skimming the channels while reaching down to untie his boots. About the time he was kicking them off, he saw a familiar title flash through the guide, a smile coming to his face.

"Dr. Sexy marathon," he smiled up at Cas, who gave him that trademark curious look. "Watch a few before we hit the hay?"

"Hit the what?"

"Oh, this is a good one," Dean gestured for Cas to look to the television. In the same moment, he scooted back in the bed, leaning up against the pillow. He reasoned that he wouldn't be able to watch from his bed, the far one, and so didn't object when Cas copied his actions. Side by side, legs stretched out and folded at the ankles, they watched, Dean quite happy to do so. After all, it wasn't like he could watch Dr. Sexy when Sam was around. That'd just get him made fun of. Cas though, well, he didn't know well enough to judge, so Dean didn't have to worry about it.

"I don't quite understand," Cas started halfway through the second episode. "I mean, Dr. Sexy is clearly capable, but I don't see anything beyond typical to justify his name. Certainly he's attractive, but…"

"What?" Dean was clearly aghast. "You're joking, right?" He wasn't. "That's- he's-" Dean sighed, disappointed. "Dr. Sexy is the sexiest M.D. That's the whole point."

"You think he's sexy?" Cas asked straight.

"Well yeah," Dean gestured sharply to the television screen, where the good doctor was bedding a nurse on an operating table. "Look at him!"

"I am," Cas was peering at the television again. "And I don't see anything overly sexy about him." Dean was staring at his friend in silent irritation. "He's cold and brooding, and hardly has any natural charm. Not socially dependable." Cas looked back at Dean. "He's not clean shaven, his hair is a mess. If anything, he's a complete disaster."

"Take that back," Dean demanded, causing Cas to cock an eyebrow. "Don't you get it, that's exactly what  _makes_  him sexy. He's got that whole… dark, handsome, scruffy thing going for him. Undependable, sure, but he keeps 'em guessing. And he is too charming. Just in a silent, measured kind of way."

"Unlike you."

"Well," Dean did have to give him that. "I'm a different kind of sexy."

"I prefer your charm to Dr. Sexy's," Cas admitted, looking back to the television.

"While I appreciate the compliment, you should watch who you criticize," Dean looked back to the television as well. "You and Dr. Sexy have a lot in common." This drew Cas's eyes back his way. "You know, that whole… scruffly, messy look. I can't pull it off, but you…" he nodded, still watching the show. "I see it."

"Thanks?" Cas eyed the screen a little differently when he looked back. "If I and Dr. Sexy have so much in common, why is it that I can't attract anyone?"

"Why are you so worried about that all of a sudden?" Dean replied shortly, looking back at him.

"I don't know," he admitted, seeming to slump back against the pillow. "I think it might have something to do with being human." Analytical as ever. "When I was an angel, it wasn't something I was at all preoccupied with. Not to say I didn't value the company of others – you and Sam are my friends – but that I simply didn't require any such closeness."

"Which you do now?"

Pause. "It's cold," he said quietly. "Being on your own."

Dean knew what he meant – exactly what he meant – and felt guilty for it all over again.

"Hey, you'll get used to it," he said gently, reaching out and patting Cas reassuringly on the thigh, just above his knee. "Not gonna say it'll be fun, but you'll learn to ignore that kind of stuff eventually."

"Like you do?"

"Well, yeah," Dean's hand retreated, his arms crossing over his chest. "You take it when you can get it and learn to deal the rest of the time."

"You don't desire a significant other?" Cas inquired, ever curious.

"I've learned not to hope for what I'll never have," he shrugged. "Besides, I'm not like Sam. I like hunting, you know, helping people. That kind of gig doesn't give much time for anything else."

"Certainly there's someone out there who is similar," Cas tried to reason. "Someone who shares your same lifestyle."

"Maybe," Dean shrugged, "but, if you hadn't noticed, people who get close to us don't always last. It's better to just… keep a healthy distance." He smirked, their eyes meeting again. "I think you're the only exception. I mean, you've probably met some quota by now. Known me and Sam for six years and you're still around." Kevin was in the running, as it were.

"You act as though you and your brother were cursed."

"We're sure not good luck."

"Were you not just going on about baggage? There must be someone with… matching luggage to yours."

"I'm not worried about it," Dean shrugged, trying to focus back on the television. "I got Sam. We've got similar baggage."

"He's your brother," Cas deadpanned.

"Yeah, so," Dean shrugged. "And I got you," he slapped him good-humoredly on the leg again.

"Our baggage goes together?" Cas was looking up at him from under those dark lashes.

"Sure," Dean nodded, that penetrating stare, which he'd seen so many times before, still as heavy on his chest as ever. It had this habit of taking his breath away. "You know it does Cas," he said breathily, his voice quite ahead of his brain. He was on his third beer by that time (Cas was still nursing his first) and knew he was probably saying things he shouldn't. But it was so easy to feel at ease around Cas, to feel safe, which only lowered his inhabitations more.

And Cas, who wasn't exactly well versed in holding his alcohol, was feeling far too warm and comfortable beside Dean. Some of it he supposed was attributed to the haze floating around in his head, some to the mere fact that he wasn't sleeping alone in the back of a store on a sleeping bag, but instead sitting beside another warm body – which belonged to one of the few people in the entire world he knew he could trust. Because, though Dean had kicked him out of the bunker, it was Cas's trust in him, despite being initially angry, that spurred him to believe Dean had done what was necessary. What he, at least, thought needed to be done. And if there was any judgment Cas thought he could have faith in, it was Dean's.

For all their history together, Dean was his best friend.

His most treasured.

"Cas…" His name came whispering from between Dean's lips, the fact that they'd been staring at each other for some few seconds longer than was acceptable not getting by either of them. But, like always, Dean had a hard time tearing himself away. Because of everyone he knew, everyone in his life, Cas was the only one that looked at him that way. That saw through every defense he had without judgment or bigotry or prejudice like so many other humans, including himself, were prone to. Like his soul was bared completely.

He tried, really, to give Cas that same experience, but he knew it was impossible. Because Cas wasn't jaded by human emotion as Dean was. By societal expectations that brought redness to his cheeks as the seconds continued to slowly tick by. They urged him to turn away, to end the connection. But the two were alone, even if for just one night. And Dean had maybe had a little too much to drink, and Cas was lonely, out on his own at Dean's fault.

And Dean missed him.

He didn't know exactly how it'd happened, how Cas's lips had ended up only a hairs breadth from his own, but Dean could feel heated breath against his face, his stare blinking back into Cas's before falling to follow his nose to that slightly open mouth. His full lips that seemed to pull up a little too far, delicately pointed. Back to his eyes. Blue. Bluer than blue.

"Dean," Cas said his name breathily, the sound still weighed with gravel and intentions and things that sent Dean's blood from his face downward. Things he thought about sometimes, but was usually too distracted to really entertain. Yet there they were, side by side, no sign of interruption in sight. One night.

Just one night.

Despite how his nerves tried to hijack him, Dean pushed through, willing courage through his system. Locked in eye contact with Cas, he gulped, lightning jolting through him as his nose brushed just gently against Cas's. As their foreheads came lightly together, lips dancing closer and closer.

Dean closed his eyes – perhaps a little tighter than he needed to. Because if he didn't, he was afraid he might chicken out. And Cas, who found his whole body sizzling with an excitement he'd never experienced before, carefully, hesitantly, closed the distance between them. He pressed his lips just barely to Dean's, his own lashes falling closed. The touch was tentative and fueled by all that was known but unsaid. Butterflies against Dean's lips.

Light, but there nonetheless. It was enough to break the levee inside Dean. For the water to come rushing forth, pushing him closer. Reaching out, his hand went instinctively to the back of Cas's neck, his body turning on the bed as he pulled the kiss more thoroughly against him. The contact deepened, Cas – who was lacking far more in experience than Dean – reaching out and gripping at Dean's leg if only for leverage. Brows scrunching, Dean sucked that top lip between his own, his breath gasping as he did. Because he was kissing Cas, one of his dearest friends, and it was okay.

It was perfect.

Cas knew, despite a handful of other times, that he was lacking greatly in experience in comparison to the man that was now sucking the sheer breath out of him. But he didn't care. Because it was Dean and, if there was anyone who'd be understanding about that, it was him. For all of Dean's rough and tumble image, he was really quite the opposite – one of the things Cas found so endearing about him.

Holding Dean's leg tighter, he breathed in that familiar scent of leather and alcohol, of spice and sweat and steel. When he'd been an angel, he'd been able to make out such things rooms away, but as a human he'd been quite without that ability, being so close to Dean then rushing him into a lightheaded euphoria that sent heat plummeting down between his legs. Quite without warning, a moan escaped his throat, one that spoke more than words ever would have.

The sound pulled Dean momentarily out of the kiss. It was a noise so charged, so drawn, that he had to pause if only to get ahold of himself. It was one of the most erotic, sensual sounds he'd ever heard, his jeans tighter in that moment than they had been in a long time.

And the look on Cas's face, his head tilted back into Dean's hand, was nearly too much. Dean had to take a deep breath if only so he didn't ruin it all.

"Cas," he breathed heavily, his lungs heaving as he gulped, licking his lips. Those blue eyes opened, staring down at him darkly and full of lust. More physically penetrating than ever before. "Cas," he said his name again as he leaned down, his lips finding the corner of that sharp jaw, "I  _need_  you."

Those words, oh how they both knew them. How important they were.

They meant everything.

"You can have me Dean, you know that," Cas assured, his hands coming up to reach around, gripping Dean's t-shirt tightly while those lips travelled down his neck. "I'm yours."

Fingers falling to Cas's sides, Dean leaned forward, over the other man as their eyes fell closed once more. The heated skin he kissed at hungrily tempted him further, his hands soon sliding up and taking the other man by force. Pulling him down, he was soon lying back against the pillows, Dean placing himself over him fully as he continued to ravage his neck.

Breathing labored, Cas's eyes popped back open at the rough handling, his hands becoming claws against Dean's shirt. He could feel the other man's warmth through the fabric, the idea of friction between their bodies spurring him to do something about it. Bunching the thin piece of clothing into his fists, he began to roughly pull it upward, Dean registering well enough what he was doing and making it that much easier for Cas to yank the offensive object up over his head. Allowing it to fall to the floor, his hands went immediately to Dean's heaving chest, the other man sitting back in his lap as Cas surveyed his thick, muscular figure.

Fingers deft and intentional, Dean began to undo the buttons to Cas's dress shirt, chest soon exposed and victim to searching fingers. Dragging his hands back beneath Cas, he easily lifted the other man up, their lips meeting again as Cas's fingers came up to grip at the other man's shoulders. Dean wanted the shirt gone however, which meant it was soon being shrugged from Cas's shoulders before being discarded over the bed. Bare skin on skin, they pulled at one another, Cas's hands falling to Dean's back pockets as he pulled him more securely into his lap. Groaning some against the tight heat that rubbed through their jeans, Dean hugged Cas as close to him as he could, every brush his arms made against warm flesh, every rub their chests made against one another, sending him farther and farther from any sense of logic.

Lips smashing clumsily together, their actions soon began to lose grace, both quite overwhelmed with their need of the other. Pushing forward, Dean laid Cas back into the bed again, his lips falling down to that scruffy chin from which he began to dot kisses down, down, down to his throat, which gulped as sweat began to form between them. Leaving burning marks in their wake, Dean ran his fingers down Cas's sides as his lips found his chest, his nails knocking at every one of his ribs, tight and wanting.

Cas's hands were in Dean's hair, pulling greedily as he registered each heated touch the hunter trailed across his torso. His abdomen quivered with anticipation, Dean's body beginning to shimmy downward as his tongue left a scalding path down to the rim of Cas's jeans. Fingers dragging to his button and zipper, Cas's hips bucked quite unconsciously as the heavy fabric was loosened. Taking hold of the edge of his pants and boxers, Dean began to tug them downward, his eyes trained on Cas's erected need, now exposed to the chill of the room.

With legs pulling quite willingly from the confining jeans, Dean dropped Cas's clothing carelessly at the foot of the bed, the man now totally naked before him. Knees bent, Cas was staring at him, the desire in his eyes only intensified by his vulnerable position. Crawling back up the bed, Dean soon found himself between Cas's legs, his hands running down his muscular, tanned thighs, all the while their eyes caught up in one another. It wasn't until Dean leaned down that the connection broke, his lips finding the inside of Cas's thigh, his hands gripping them equally. The contact pulled a growling gasp from Cas, whose fingers had found the sheets and were grasping them tightly.

Breathing in the smell of sweat and need, Dean nosed his way up to the base of that desire, his tongue soon dragging along the shaft as Cas trembled before him. With experience in more things than he was really willing to admit, Dean was soon taking Cas wholly into his mouth, his lips sucking as the body beneath him jolted and bucked.

He could tell Cas wouldn't hold out long however, be it due to lack of experience or simply – like in Dean's case – because their situation was too heavy and charged to really control. He drank Cas in and out for a moment, the labored moan that echoed around the room telling him just how close the other man was. Which was why he soon let him go, Cas whimpering some as the cold air assaulted him once again. Ever intent however, Dean was soon distracting the ex-angel with other ideas, his lips once again trailing down between Cas's heated thighs. As if wanting to meet him, Cas's hips rose, Dean's attention falling down to the heated entrance that he was quite positive no one but himself had ever touched so.

He got a delicious kind of satisfaction out of the fact that Cas was complete putty in his hands. Fingers gripping almost territorially at the ass pulling his attention, he allowed his tongue to do the exploring that was sending Cas into a delirious mess. He knew just as well as Cas that it was more than what he was physically doing – that it was the fact that it was the two of them, touching, discovering, intimately getting to know one another in ways they never had before, that was sending them both into euphoric states of pleasure. Which was why Dean pressed on despite not having the tools he knew would make it less painful. They'd just have to make do with what they had, because they certainly weren't stopping.

Leaving as much wetness behind as he could, Dean pulled one of his hands between Cas's thighs, taking a single finger between his lips to get it as ready as possible before allowing it to find that waiting opening. Eyes flicking up, he watched as Cas's whole body jerked as he entered, his hands in his own hair as he groaned. He leaned into the touch, submerging Dean's finger more fully. His wanton display of desire, despite how painful it may have been, forced Dean to steady his own breathing. He focused his attention on the preparation necessary, his fingers expertly penetrating until he located that one spot that nearly sent Cas over the edge.

A second finger, Cas was whining his name. A third and the sound of his voice was nearly too much to bear.

Leaning up while still keeping on with his stroking, Dean used his other hand to reach for his own pant's button, quickly undoing it before doing the same for the zipper. Forcefully shoving his jeans down his thighs, he did the same for his own boxers, pulling himself free while removing his fingers. Not bothering with the patience needed to remove his pants entirely, he instead leaned over Cas, who was staring up at him as he did.

"This might hurt," he warned through heavy breathing.

"I don't care," Cas made forcefully clear, his hands coming up to grip at Dean's shoulders. With his legs between Cas's, Dean could feel the way the other man's hips surged upward, begging for attention, which Dean was more than willing to give. Pressing his hips down against Cas's, he reached back between them, situating himself before slowly pressing his own need against that warm entrance. Cas clawed tighter at his shoulders, the expression on his face becoming feral as Dean pushed himself in further and further. Until, finally, he was engulfed entirely, Cas's throat resounding with a loud moan that echoed more so of pleasure than pain. Because they'd both experienced much worse, which made any kind of hurt hardly a variable.

Body sunk against Cas's, Dean felt a groan escape between his teeth as he buried himself as fully as possible. Knees against the bedding, he allowed the tightness to envelop him totally, his fingers clawing at the sheets on either side of Cas.

For a moment he allowed the sensation to fill him completely, his eyes closing as he bit his lip and realized just how deeply he was touching Cas in that moment. A moment that his body was soon issuing he repeat.

Over and over and over again.

Pulling back until he was nearly out completely, he then thrust himself forward again, Cas gasping beneath him, seeming to flounder in the sheets as Dean began to slowly develop a rhythm. Bodies flush up against one another, he was soon plunging himself in and out, making sure to hit that single spot that sent Cas moaning every time. Each breath he took bounced around the room, Dean reaching between them and taking hold of Cas's length, beginning to pump him in tandem with their pattern.

Hands skimming down Dean's back, Cas was soon gripping his ass hard enough to leave bruises, willing their hips to collide harder, faster, more aggressively. A fact over which Dean had little complaint. Their tempo soon became erratic, Dean beginning to slip out of control. And Cas, who'd held out for about as long as he could, was soon gone, his whole body tensing.

" _Dean_!" his gravelly voice groaned loudly, his whole body arcing upward as he reached release. Still held tight in Dean's pumping hand, everything was let go, the sight of Cas's body giving out beneath him pushing Dean even closer. Hands falling to the sheets, Cas's eyes, which had previously been closed in ecstasy, opened again, that blue bleary as his body spun out of the high.

And Dean, staring down at him while his hips continued to work, gritted his teeth as his blood rushed him over the cliff. Slipping, he arms became weak, his chest sinking as he pumped those last few seconds into Cas. Cas, who could see that he was losing it, was getting out of control, and reached up tiredly to catch him. Foreheads leaning together, Dean closed his eyes, aware of the way his thrusting weakened, his body releasing, engulfed in the man beneath him. Mouth gaping, he was silent, Cas watching in erotic fascination as his pleasure stretched across his whole expression, the sheer force of their actions breaking any shields he had against revealing what he felt.

He let everything go, Cas's strong arms, despite their exhaustion, holding him steady as he twitched what was left in him against the ex-angel. Breathing out heavily, he gasped, his chest heaving as the final throws of their foray fled him. Faint and in a state of leftover ecstasy, Dean's whole body fell heavily atop Cas, whose hands gripped and caught him tightly. One arm wrapping around his back, Cas pulled Dean as close to him as possible, his other hand sifting through his short, dirty-blonde hair.

Bodies sweaty, breathing heavy, they lay without a word, both their brains a little too frazzled to think anything coherently. The only direct voice within the room was emitted from the television, where Dr. Sexy was beginning a new episode, one neither of the men had the attention span to hear.

Instead, warm and feeling quite safe in their own bubble of a world, Cas soon registered that Dean's breathing had evened, the familiar sound of his sleep only aiding in reminding Cas just how exhausted he was too. Within the moment, they'd both drifted off, the shaking of their motel room only disturbing the overhead light as a train rattled by outside.

They slept, wrapped up in one another, more soundly than either had in a long time (or in Cas's case, ever). However, one night didn't erase years of a hard life, Dean only managing to get in his usual four or five hours before his eyes slowly cracked open. Blinking slowly, he registered that he was still lying quite comfortably atop Cas, who's soft snoozing was a more comforting sound than any of the women Dean had ever woken up with. Probably because, with Cas, he wasn't waking up full of insecurity or the want to get away as soon as possible. He was rarely gifted with such a luxury, his trust and comfort level with Cas almost taking himself by surprise. But, ultimately, it didn't. He and Cas had fought countless battles together, been there for one another through thick and thin, and that wasn't something a romp in the sack could disrupt. If anything, it only cemented to Dean how much Cas meant to him (a fact he'd already been quite aware of). It was strange, especially when considering how sex usually went over. Cas was his friend, really, above anything else. It wouldn't matter if they slept together every night for the rest of their lives, that was where it all ended. Because Dean knew there wasn't an appropriate way to label what was between them, Cas's "profound bond" perhaps coming closest. And he honestly didn't have a desire to put a label on it. "Friends" was good enough for anyone who needed to know, because both him and Cas knew everything otherwise.

There weren't any words for it.

If there ever did come a time where it became necessary to pin down their status, then they'd deal with it. As it were, when considering everything going on outside their motel room, what happened there would have to be left. Part of Dean wanted to bring Cas back to the bunker, his hands finding his bare sides and his face cuddling into that chest as he considered it. But he knew he couldn't. Not with Sam in the situation he was.

Maybe that was the whole thing. He and Cas knew what was between them, what could be, and they simply had to wait until it was appropriate to make something of it. Until then – if that time ever came – they had what they did, broken and disjointed as it was.

But it was something.

A very important something.

"Dean?" Cas's scratchy voice sounded above his head, Dean realizing too late that his grip had been enough to wake the other man. Releasing his hold, he turned his head up to take in the stare looking down at him, dark eyebrows furrowed curiously.

"Sorry," he apologized with a deep breath. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"It's fine," Cas assured, his body stretching some beneath Dean as he glanced over to the end table. A cheap, digital alarm clock sat there, the time reading six thirty-seven. "I have work at eight anyway."

Nodding, Dean finally got up the energy to move. Rolling to the side, his sticky body seemed to stretch off of Cas, his pants around his knees hindering his movements some. Pursing his lips, he began to kick them off entirely – once he'd landed back down beside Cas. They "fwumped" heavily to the side of the bed, Dean sinking some into the mattress as he cocked a single knee upward.

Watching him the whole time, Cas soon turned on his side, his gaze focused on Dean's profile. It took a second, but Dean eventually returned the look, a smirk pulling at one side of his lips.

"You're beautiful," Cas said quite certainly.

"Hmm, thanks," Dean grinned wider. "I think it's pretty clear what I think of you."

Cas smiled just a little.

"You have work at eight?" A nod of confirmation. "You should probably take a shower," Dean reached out, his hand landing with a soft pat against Cas's hip. "You'll smell like sex all day otherwise." Which was something others would definitely notice.

"I suppose you're right," Cas agreed, making no initial attempts to move. After a few more seconds of staring however, he sighed, giving in. Sitting up, Dean's hand fell away from him as he stared out across the room. His attempts to rise only got about halfway to success, one of his legs coming up to fold before him as he sat stationary on the bed.

Dean admired the view for a moment. That body – which was more Cas's than anyone else's, as far as Dean was concerned – with its well-formed, wiry muscle, naturally tanned skin, dark hair. Sharp features. Yes, Cas was most certainly something worthy of desire.

Sitting up as well, Dean scooted up beside him, their thighs bumping as he placed a hand behind Cas's back, his chin leaning on his shoulder. Turning into him, Cas allowed their eyes to meet again, their noses touching as they stared.

"You know," Cas started, his voice a mere murmur, "the day I raised your from hell, I really was lost."

Dean blinked, knowing his eyes said enough. "I've found, in this world, that it's more often better to be lost than found."

A soft, sad smile below those blue eyes.

Shortly after, Cas was up, the bathroom shower running. Dean had lain back in the bed, cruising through the television channels until Cas came back out. With him toweling his hair dry and gathering their clothes around the room, Dean took over the bathroom. By the time seven-thirty was rolling around, Dean was pulling his jeans back on, Cas yanking on his work vest, which he'd retrieved from the car. With sunlight shining in through the blinds on the windows, they were soon fully presentable, Dean lastly shucking on his coat as Cas rose from where he'd been sitting on the end of the bed. He'd pulled up the sheets and gathered them into a roll, for the sake of the help, which left the room in a state of farewell.

Looking only quickly to one another, Dean sighed before going to he door. Reaching for the knob, he twisted before pulling it open. Cas was just behind him, his arm catching Cas's as the door opened. Turning up, he was caught up yet again in that look, his lips pursing as he took it in.

Leaning forward, he caught Cas by the arm, his fingers holding his sleeve as he pressed their lips together. Cas gave in willingly, the contact lasting only seconds. But it was heavy, and meaningful, and more than what time could define.

Still holding Cas's sleeve, Dean leaned back, blue eyes blinking back at him.

"I guess this is adios," he muttered.

Cas nodded, knowing there was no objecting to the truth of the statement.

With only a last look into each other, Dean nodded to the door, gesturing Cas through first before pulling the door closed behind him. Foregoing checking out – he'd left the key in the room – his eyes turned to the impala. His hand still lingered on the doorknob, Cas's back to him as he headed to the passenger side of the car.

Willing himself to take a deep breath, Dean closed his eyes for a moment, his hand still on the knob.

He considered what was in that room, what they were leaving behind, and nearly tore his chest apart as he finally allowed his hand to fall to his side.

Control.

Going to the car, he climbed in the driver's side before starting the engine and backing out of the parking spot. Soon enough they were on the road, the Gas-N-Sip only some ten minutes away.


	2. Possession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean accidentally gives away his feelings to Cas and has to be pursued through the bunker and brought back from his self-hating insecurities.
> 
> Rated K for general audiences.

"Because he's in love with you," Sam had said, smirking at his snide joke. That was how it had all started – how Dean had fumbled to make-up for the remark (not having expected it to come from his brother), and had tripped over his words until he'd accidentally said something along the lines of "well, yeah, but…" before awkwardly laughing. It'd all happened so fast, and they'd been on a case, and Cas had been standing there. And he'd said "I know," with such certainty in that deep, gravelly voice. The people they'd been speaking to had laughed, and they'd laughed, and Cas had furrowed his brows. Because he wasn't stupid and could tell when the two brothers were forcing it. The sweat that had beaded on Dean's forehead had probably spelled it out pretty well too.

And now it was out there. It was all out there and Dean didn't know how to take it back. And Cas had said "I know."

He didn't like that he had feelings for Cas – was attracted to him. He'd come to terms with it, but this new development brought all the terrible back into his mind's eye. Because it was so heavy, and full, and bloated, and Dean hated himself so much. And felt guilty about it, like it was some terrible, horrible thing that was his fault, even though Cas knew he couldn't do anything about it. And he was ashamed that Cas had figured it out – found out – like it was wrong that Dean's admiration be known to the one it was for.

Like his feelings were disgusting. To everyone.

"Cas," Sam's somewhat panicked voice interjected itself as they filed into the bunker, Dean having first retreated and vanished so as to get away as fast as possible. "You have to do something."

"What am I supposed to do?" he snapped back, looking heatedly at Sam – only being so touchy because the whole ordeal was practically ripping him apart too.

"I don't know man," Sam shook his head. "Either… either go to him or leave for a while."

"Leave?"

"Look, I know you and Dean share a 'profound' connection or whatever, but now it's time to man up and do something about it." Because no one had to be a mind reader to know Dean was in misery. "So you either go get him or you give him space. A lot of space."

Cas had to decide whether to return Dean's feelings or not – that was the gist of what Sam was saying.

The breaking point.

Castiel easily came to understand what he would do however. Dean was his best friend, the person he was devoted to above all others. He'd do anything for him, had done all he could, given up everything. Dean had always been, and forever on would be, the most important.

Wings fluttering, Cas's own nerves on the whole debacle got the better of him, his logic about the human perception of "necessary" getting thrown away as he flashed across the bunker. Right into Dean's room, the man in question turning as soon as he heard the familiar flap from where he was sitting on his bed.

"Get out," he commanded as soon as he saw Cas, his muscular arm gesturing toward the door. His face was set in a cold expression of defensive fragileness, Cas fully aware that it was taking all his control to scowl and snarl as he was.

"Dean, listen-"

"Get out!" He was standing.

"Dean!" Cas's voice got deeper, his own irritation at Dean's stubborn, ridiculous insecurity complex puncturing his own self-control. "Stop!"

"I can't!" Dean yelled back, helplessness brimming at his words, starting to overflow. "I've tried!"

And Cas ran cold with what he was implying.

"I'm sorry," he admitted, his voice quieting some as his arm fell limp at his side. His gaze fell away as well, his whole demeanor sinking. "I've tried to stop, but I can't. It doesn't work that way."

As if Cas didn't understand.

"I didn't mean to tell you, to become like this," he continued, sounding far too broken – far too defeated – for Dean Winchester. "Otherwise, I would have…"

"You would have what?" Cas asked, tone low. Sincere maybe. "I know there's nothing you can do about it. There's nothing wrong with what you feel Dean. You can't help it."

But it was clear such words were doing little to ease Dean's distress. If anything, he only deteriorated further, his lips actually trembling some as he reached up and ran his hand through his hair.

"I've messed it up, haven't I?" he asked, Cas's eyebrows scrunching together. He wanted to reach out, to do something, but was afraid of how Dean would react. "What we had. I've ruined it." His voice sounded almost choked.

"No," Cas did take a step forward then, but only one. Because Dean took a step back in response, looking up at him uncertainly. "Nothing is ruined. You haven't done anything wrong." He had to find the right words. "And there's nothing wrong with you."

"Cas, you don't-"

"I do understand," he interrupted, silently spurring Dean to keep eye contact with him. "I understand perfectly. It doesn't bother me. You don't have anything to be ashamed of." The desire, the expectation, the feelings, Cas was aware that none of it could be helped.

"Then why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you tell me you… you knew? You just let me go?" As if Cas being aware of these feelings was some kind of an enabler, allowing them to run rampant and unchecked.

"You didn't want me to know," Cas shrugged, his head shaking slightly. "And I didn't want you to… to distance yourself from me." Maybe his desire for secrecy, for keeping his knowledge to himself, had been somewhat selfish. "You seemed content with our situation, and I didn't want to push you away." Because he knew how Dean could be about emotions, and how he tended to shy away from them whenever possible.

"Content?" Dean shook his head. "If you really knew how I felt, then you know that's not true." Which, as far as Dean was concerned, was the worst part. How much he really wanted more.

"I know that you wanted to hide it," Cas replied. "That you were too ashamed to tell me. And if that was what was easiest for you, I wasn't going to say anything." Because he feared losing his friendship with Dean above everything – aside from losing Dean himself. It didn't seem like too much to ask, simply that he be allowed to stay with him, with Dean. "Whatever you want, that's fine with me."

"What does that even mean?" Dean replied somewhat heatedly, confusion apparent in every word. "You know what I want, you know what-"

"Then that's what I'll be," Cas assured, Dean's lips clamping closed. "You wanted us to become comrades, so I abandoned Heaven. You wanted us to be friends, so I betrayed the other angels. You wanted us to be family, so I found a new home.

"You want us to be lovers," Dean's cheeks pinked at the word, but Cas pressed on, "then I'll belong to you."

"Cas…"

"I don't know why you were afraid to tell me," he admitted, "because you should have known what I'd say." Dean's lips pursed, his eyes searching Cas's – desperately perhaps. "How I feel about you Dean… I thought I'd made that pretty clear years ago."

"You make it sound so simple," Dean muttered out, his voice straining against the pressure welling up in his throat. Cas could sense his fear, his apprehension at believing what he was actually hearing. Because Dean had lived a life of disappointment, heartache, and abandonment. And when he let his hopes get up too high, he was always shot down.

"It's not simple," Cas took another step forward, thankful this time when Dean didn't back away. "But that doesn't make it wrong." Slowly, he closed the distance between them, only coming to a halt when their noses were mere inches away. Dean was always going on about personal space, but Cas preferred to be close to him. To look at him – to count his freckles and the flecks in his eyes, to watch as his long eyelashes came down to brush his cheeks, and how his lips stretched and moved when he spoke. It was mesmerizing.

"Cas-" Dean wanted to say something more, but his words were sliced off on his tongue, unable to pass through every barricade he'd thrown up his whole life.

"I know," was the quiet assurance Cas gave him. He understood Dean was afraid. That he feared how close they were standing and what that meant. What that said about himself and what it'd say to others. And what a position it would put him in – how vulnerable and exposed, and then to give something a chance that had hurt him so many times before.

"It's okay," Cas nodded, allowing a small smile to echo his soft words. "You don't have to say anything."

Which was probably the most comforting thing anyone could say to Dean in that moment. He didn't have to explain himself, to justify his feelings and spell them out so Cas could be certain they were there. In those blue eyes, all was clear. All was certain. No judgment, no denial, no wayward consequences. Just truth.

Acceptance without a catch.

For a moment, as their noses leaned in and Cas's breath washed over Dean's lips, he wasn't afraid anymore –

He had one thing to say.

"I need you, Cas."

Eyes closed.

"Then I'm yours."


	3. Love Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a secret admirer slipping notes under his door.
> 
> Rated K for general audiences.

Love notes are one of those things that people get on television and in movies, not in real life, so Dean was pretty surprised when they started showing up under his shop door.

Initially he'd assumed it was a mistake. Someone who'd been in to pick up or drop off their car had dropped it and he hadn't noticed it till the morning after. So Dean hadn't opened it, instead deciding to leave it on the counter in case someone came looking for it. Sealed up in a red envelope, it'd sat for days, Dean eventually forgetting about it as it got covered with receipts and work orders.

Until another one showed up.

This had piqued his curiosity, Dean finally deciding to open them only to find personal versus addressed directly to him.

_Mr. Winchester – Sometimes I try to count all your freckles. I never succeed._

Or so had said the second one. The first had been about his eyes, about how green they were, or some such nonsense. At least, that was what Dean had thought of it at first. He scoffed and remembered something about high school, the whole thing making him rather uncomfortable in an embarrassed kind of way. Mostly because he couldn't imagine who would want to secretly admire someone like him. He was covered in grease and dirt a majority of the time, running a car garage as he did. What was there to see in that?

Plus, there was the whole veteran status, which left him in a state of perpetual after-work drinking, a habit he wasn't too entirely proud of, but didn't know how to kick.

Yet the notes kept coming. Regularly actually. Every Wednesday morning. To the point where Dean actually anticipated it, his stomach tightening in apprehension as he'd consider what those words would have to say and what color they'd be wrapped in. Sometimes it was short and sweet, others were maybe a sentence or two, but they were always pleasant. Always nice things.

Things that made him feel good for a minute or two.

_Mr. Winchester – You should smile more often._

_Mr. Winchester – Your dedication to your job is admirable._

_Mr. Winchester – Sometimes you forget to brush your hair. I don't mind._

_Mr. Winchester – Your walk is aesthetically pleasing._

_Mr. Winchester – Everything about you is aesthetically pleasing._

The notes were odd, really, but Dean couldn't help being flattered. The attention put a soft spot in his day, something to look forward to. Something to push away the nightmares and the loneliness for a little while.

_Mr. Winchester – You had a smudge of grease under your eye yesterday. I almost wanted to rub it off myself._

_Mr. Winchester – I think about you a lot._

Slowly but surely, Dean found himself wanting to discover the culprit, his mind becoming more and more distracted with it all the time. It was apparently someone he saw regularly, likely a few times a week. Maybe someone at the grocery store. Or the gas station. Or who walked by his shop. He was soon watching everyone, foolishly thinking that if he spotted them, he'd just know. But the faces were less distinctive than he'd anticipated and his search began to only frustrate him.

Yet the notes kept coming.

_Mr. Winchester – I'd ask you out for drinks if I was brave enough, but I don't have that kind of courage anymore._

_Mr. Winchester – You were angry about something the other day. I wanted to comfort you, but I'm not forward enough._

_Mr. Winchester – I dreamt about you last night. You seem like the type that could chase the unwanted away._

More and more personal, Dean eventually beginning to piece together the feelings and pace of the writer. He had the notes tacked up to one of the walls in his apartment, divided up into categories. How personal they were versus physical compliments. Times he was noticed for specific features or actions with a list of what he'd done that day. Work, grocery store, bar. Work, post office, bank, bar. There never seemed to be any strict pattern that led him to anywhere specific.

So he'd sit with his drinks and think, and wonder, and stare at the glass until it was gone and the bartender had replaced it with another.

_Mr. Winchester – I wonder what you think of bees._

_Mr. Winchester – Your hands are calloused. Mine are too._

It was beginning to aggravate him actually. To the point where any feeling of flattery was followed quickly by loathing. Because he wanted to meet this person, whoever they were, but they were keeping their distance. Once he'd even tried to intercept them. After all, it was always on Wednesdays, so he'd gotten up at three in the morning and staked out inside his shop, at the window, thinking that whoever dropped them off would fall right into his trap.

He didn't get a note that Wednesday. And the one the week after wasn't promising.

_Mr. Winchester – I'm not the kind of person that's easily tricked._

He's ripped up that one in frustration.

And so the notes continued. Weeks they went on, until, finally, something new happened. Rather, the note was a bit different. What made it curious, however, was what had come before it. The evening previous, to be more exact.

Dean had been at his regular stool, nursing his beer, thinking. He was usually one of the last to leave the bar, though a few stragglers were always burrowed away in the corners or mirroring his own disposition. The bartender had been at the far end, wiping some glasses. A typical night.

And then the crash had happened. An accident, just outside. Two trucks had collided head-on, shaking the street and starting everyone nearby. Including Dean, who hadn't meant to jump up so high or reach back for the gun he didn't carry anymore. Like a great flash, he was in the desert again, and was running, and heaving in deep breaths, and the wind was whipping his face, clogging his pores as sweat swept down across his skin.

He'd reached out to steady himself on the bar, eyes closed as he'd tried to push it away. As he'd looked for reality again. The others around had rushed out to see what had happened, but Dean hadn't been able. He stood motionless, cold and shivering and out of control.

Then there'd been the note the following morning.

_Mr. Winchester – It got me too. I thought I was going to die, for just a second. Maybe that's why I don't have any courage left anymore. I'm too busy being scared all the time to find it. Like everywhere I step there's going to be some kind of trap waiting for me and then I'll be gone. I don't sleep because of it, and when I do I wake up thinking about it. Unless I dream of you. When that accident happened, it was you that pulled me out of it. I wanted to go to you, to help, but I didn't think I could. You were somewhere else, and I was somewhere else, and we weren't somewhere else together. But I think of them sometimes, and how they're gone now, how I'm all that's left. Do you feel like that sometimes? Like you're all there is? Sometimes when I look at you, I don't feel quite so alone anymore._

That was how Dean knew his admirer was a vet. Like him. He read the note over and over and over, lost a little in the words. They'd been there, in the bar, probably in plain sight. And if he hadn't been trapped inside dead memories, he might have noticed them. Seen how they'd froze like he had, carried away to places neither of them had wanted to go.

He got a call from his brother a week later. Sam was engaged. Dean was happy for him and Jessica, but also a little sad.

He stayed later at the bar that night. One, because he was drinking a bit more. Two, because he was hoping he'd somehow locate his admirer. There wasn't anyone of any consequence however – not anyone Dean could have imagined writing the notes. And it wasn't like the guy being a vet was much help. They lived in a military town; almost everyone was connected to it somehow.

Including the drunks.

"You don't know who you're dealing with!" one late-nighter was drawling from the back of the bar, Dean sipping his beer and pretending not to notice. "I served this country! I'm a marine! I don't need this bullshit!" He stumbled up to the counter, Dean leaning away with a scowl. "'Nother round."

The bartender shook his head, continually wiping the glass in his hand.

"C'mon man!" the drunk insisted. "Just one more."

"Dude, you've had enough," Dean interjected, trying to pat the stranger good-naturedly on the back. He considered what the odds were that his vet was someone like this, but quickly decided it wasn't possible. "Let it go."

"Fuck you!" the man shoved his arm away, Dean leaning to the side with skeptically raised brows. "This is bullshit!" The drunk had turned his ranting fully on Dean. "I didn't get shot at so I could come home and get treated like shit! Who the hell do you think you are?!"

He poked Dean hard in the chest.

"Watch it man," Dean warned, his hand leaving his beer on the bar as he turned fully to the onslaught. "I don't want to do this."

"You couldn't if you tried!" With bloodshot eyes, the stranger shoved Dean harshly by the shoulders, nearly knocking him off his seat.

Dean growled. "I'm serious," he warned.

"Fuck you, I-"

Dean hadn't even seen him coming. The bartender, that was. He'd come up behind the drunk, grabbing him before he had the chance to finish his first punch in Dean's direction. Twisting his arm with expert skill, his straight, expressionless face had given nothing away as he'd turned him into the bar. Slammed him there, taken both his arms behind his back, and held him shouting under control. Before, muscular arms unable to be fought, he was pushing the drunk toward the door, throwing him bodily from the building with what looked like little effort.

Those who'd been with the rough-houser were jogging out after their "friend," the bartender holding the door open until they'd all left before he turned and walked back in.

Dean was blinking, still quite surprised at the whole thing. He'd have been able to take the drunk, no questions asked, but that wasn't really the point. No, what was striking him was seeing the man who'd been serving him beer after beer the last few years moving in a way he'd never seen before. With smooth grace and skill, and a terrifying level of stealth.

He didn't look at Dean as he went around to the back of the bar again, his white apron a little stained and tied in a bow above his pants. He reached immediately for the glass he'd been polishing previously, almost too intent on it. Too hasty, in fact. He picked it up, Dean realizing for the first time that his hands were shaking.

The glass was shattering against the floor a second later.

Dean flinched only slightly at the sound, unsure how to react as the bartender stared down at the mess with a tightly pale expression.

Never before had Dean ever paid much attention to the guy. He was the quieter type, not saying much of anything, never starting conversation. Only nodding and serving drinks. Doing his job. Going around bussing tables occasionally, but just as much an object of the room as the bar itself and the stool Dean sat on.

He had dark hair, sharp, angled features. Heavy eyes. The build of someone who'd been through shit. Shit like Dean had been.

"You alright?" Dean asked after a second, the bartender still staring down at the broken glass. His hands were laid heavily against his apron, like that was going to stop their trembling.

"I'm fine," he answered after a rather extended pause, his voice surprisingly deep and gravelly. Like stones dragged against a screen. "I don't… handle confrontation well."

"Yeah," Dean nodded slowly. "I don't think any of us do." The "us" was personal, spoken with experience. The bartender merely pursed his lips however, finally bending down and beginning to pick up the glass. "You really had him though," Dean tried to offer a slight comfort. "I didn't even see you coming."

Another pause, those shaking hands stilling in their cleanup. "It was my job not to be seen," he said, turning up to look at Dean finally. Blue eyes. Bluer than Dean had ever seen any eyes. But sad too. Drawn; tired.

Dean didn't know what to say to that, only able to stare back through the silence. Wondering the whole time how he'd been coming to the same bar nearly every night, yet he felt like this was the first time he'd ever really seen the man who worked there. Vigorously even. With the same dedication that Dean rose to his own shop every morning.

Like it was the only thing he had.

"The bar is closing," he said a moment later, looking back down at the glass. "You don't normally stay this long."

"Yeah, well," Dean sighed, glancing to the side, "I was looking for someone, but…" He wasn't going to explain. Not that he needed to. The bartender didn't ask, which Dean was thankful for. Still, he added one last thing as he rose from his seat and pulled on his coat. "Kinda ironic that a guy who starts shaking at the sight of a fight works in a bar. And handles glass."

No response.

That night had been a Tuesday, so when Dean had gone in for work the morning after, he'd felt his usual anxiety at what would be waiting for him. He wasn't disappointed. As expected, there was a small envelope slid under the door, in plain sight on the dirty floor.

Picking it up, he tore it open, biting his bottom lip as he read.

_Mr. Winchester – Holding things makes it all stop. It gives me something to do with my hands when they start reaching for the trigger. Also, I think I might be in love with you._

Dean wondered how he hadn't figured it out sooner.

He writes his own note that morning, stuffing it into a boring, white envelope that he uses to send out bills. He waits until it gets close to noon before closing down early. He goes to the bar and slips the envelope under the door.

Lingering around the corner, the few minutes he's standing there are some of the longest in his life. But he knows when the bar opens, and hears the door as it's unlocked. Coming around just after it creaks, he spots a figure crouched down in the doorway, unsteady hands fumbling with the envelope.

Dean reads it with him, going over the words he'd written in his head.

_It takes more courage to choose 'not to' than 'to' sometimes. You just have to know the difference._

He knocks on the doorframe a second later.

His bartender doesn't appear surprised. Standing slowly, he turns to face Dean, his own note clutched in his hand. It's not shaking.

"Hi," Dean says rather lamely. Breathlessly maybe.

"Hello," that deep voice manages to get out, blue eyes more focused on the floor than anything else. Dean thinks he sees a slight redness to those tanned cheeks.

"I guess I should have realized it was you."

"I'm pretty good at going unnoticed."

"Yeah, I get that," Dean grins some, aware of how his heart beats quick in his chest. "I don't think you've ever told me your name."

"You've never asked."

"I'm asking now."

Finally those blue eyes twitch up to look at him.

"Castiel," he says slowly. "Castiel Novak."

"I'm Dean," he replies despite how the other man likely knows as much. "You can stop calling me Mr. Winchester."

No response.

"You wanted to ask me out for drinks once, right?" Dean asks a second later. "No offense, but I think we've had enough drinks together." He thinks maybe there's a small smile on those lips. "So… how about coffee instead?"

Yeah, that's a smile.

"I'd like that... Dean," Castiel nods, his one hand tightening on the note. The other is at his side, trembling slightly.

Reaching out, Dean takes hold of it, stepping a little closer as he steadies the constant tremor.

He smiles fully. "Me too, Cas."


	4. Be Direct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to get Cas laid in a seedy bar and things end on a different note.
> 
> Rated T for language and adult themes.

"No, don't  _stare_ ," Dean was lecturing in frustration, hand pinching the bridge of his nose as he sighed. Cas, head snapping forward, twitched his eyes back and forth, wondering silently how one went about not staring. Was he not always, technically, staring?

Beside the two, first beer still in hand, Sam was laughing, head shaking as he leaned his elbows up against the bar. He was quite settled to simply watch and see how this whole scheme of Dean's went.

"How am I to qualify my interest if I don't evaluate my options?" Cas asked, just as frustrated as Dean with the situation.

"By not staring at every woman in the bar for five minutes straight!" Dean hissed.

"That is an exaggeration."

"Christ Cas, how'd you ever get laid in the first place?" Huffing, Dean had leaned heavily against the bar, his beer mug sitting half full beside him as he looked Cas critically up and down. Now, granted, guy wasn't the youngest looking, and the coat was a bit frumpy, but still, Dean was certain he shouldn't have any problems. Just so long as he quit with the long, critical  _stares_  at everyone.

"It wasn't that difficult," Cas replied, eyes narrowing thoughtfully as he cocked his head to the side. "She came on to me actually, so there was very little work involved. Until the intercourse."

Sam snorted, beer sputtering from between his lips.

"Right…" Dean deadpanned, taking a deep breath to prepare himself. "Well, first thing's first, you can't stare like that, alright? It's creepy." Dean knew plenty from experience. Granted, Cas's intense eye contact had long since lost its creep factor with him, but that was a special case. Him and Cas were practically best friends. They could just read each other like that, through their eyes. Nothing weird about it.

"How am I to evaluate my options then?" Cas turned to look at Dean, a small frown creasing his curious expression.

"You skim," Dean explained, allowing his own gaze scan the room as he did. Shadows, pool, cigarette smoke hovering above their heads – typical seedy place they frequented. It was happy hour however, so there was a generous number of patrons around, as well as quite a few ladies looking for attention.

He returned his look to Cas. "Only time you stare is if someone catches your eye, and even then, you don't stare like… like you do."

"Like I do?"

"Yeah, you know, all long and intense and… you," Dean shook his head before turning his glare on Sam, who was chuckling on Cas's other side. "You have any better ideas?" The question was snide – irritated.

"I don't know why we're doing this in the first place," Sam countered, leaning back some on his stool with his eyebrow raised in a critical fashion at his brother.

"Because one of us should be getting laid!" Dean reasoned quietly. "I can't 'cuz, well, you know," he didn't trust himself with the mark. Had to stay away from bad vices. "And we all know how the women you have sex with end up." Sam glared. "'Sides, Cas has only had one go around," he grinned at the angel suggestively. "That's hardly acceptable."

"Maybe Cas doesn't want to get laid," Sam fought back, looking to the angel questioningly. Quite as though he expected Cas to agree with him.

"I don't have a strong opinion on the subject," Cas admitted. "While it was pleasurable, now that I'm no longer human, the urge to participate has waned considerably." He took a sip of his beer, seeming to frown at it afterward. Molecules. "However, I realize you value the sentiment," he was still looking at Dean (like always, but Sam kept that thought to himself), "and I'm willing to participate if you think I'll get something out of it."

"Get something out of it?" Dean asked critically. "Damn Cas, it's sex and women! 'Course you'll get something out of it." What a ridiculous thing to say.

"Sex isn't everything to everyone," Sam and his logic again. "Plenty of people don't want or need it, especially from strangers. And what do you know about Cas's preferences anyway?" They'd never asked him after all.

Dean squinted at the angel almost suspiciously, actually considering what his little brother had said. "Are you gay?"

"Excuse me?" Cas's brows furrowed together.

"I mean, it's cool if you swing that way," Dean continued almost guardedly, Sam rolling his eyes. "No judgment, man."

"'No judgment…'" Sam muttered – quoted – quite knowingly, but Dean chose to ignore him.

"I'm an angel, Dean," Cas finally replied, sounding rather short. "I am neither male nor female, nor do I have any opinion on sexual preference." A fact both the brothers should very well know by that point.

"You like chicks though, right?" Dean was suspicious again.

"Humans are humans," he shrugged, finally looking away. "It matters little to me."

"Right…" Dean didn't exactly know what to do with that. "Well, we'll just stick to women. It's what I know best." He cleared his throat, ignoring the sideways look Sam threw at him. "Anyway, getting back on track. So," both him and Cas had turned fully in their stools so they were facing each other, "what are you  _not_  going to do?"

"Stare," Cas nodded, totally beyond serious.

"Right," Dean appeared similar, Sam unable to hold back smiling into his beer. "So you've stayed on point and there's a woman talking to you. What are you going to say?"

Cas blinked.

"Right…" Dean sighed. "It's called flirting. You need to flirt, Cas. Do you know how to do that?"

"Of course he knows how to do that," Sam interjected, unable to hold his silence. He tried to keep his lips from tugging into a knowing grin, but it was so difficult. Instead, he overcompensated, sounding more irritated than he was, which ruffled Dean's feathers. "We've seen him doing over and over and over again."

"We have?" Dean narrowed his eyes, Cas appearing thoughtful.

"Well,  _I_  have. You're just too dimwitted to notice."

"Screw you, Sammy!"

"I don't recall ever knowingly partaking in such a thing," Cas observed, not at all perturbed by the hostility sparking between the brothers.

"Look, you just need to practice," Sam gestured to the angel and then to Dean with his beer. "Pretend Dean is a woman and you want him to go back to the motel with you. What are you gonna say?"

"Why do I have to be the woman?" Dean hissed defensively. "You're the one with the flowing mane there, Goldilocks." Sam ignored him, silently encouraging Cas, whose eyes were flicking between them. Finally settling on Dean, who'd huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, he squinted in consideration, staring.

And staring. Until so many seconds had passed that Dean felt rather forced to roll his eyes.

"Okay, here we go," he muttered to himself, green eyes looking quickly to the ceiling before dropping back down to Cas. "So, what brings such a good-looking guy like you to a place like this?" He smiled bitterly, Cas's eyebrows furrowing at his question.

"Dean, I came with-  _Oh_!" Cas did that small little smile that appeared whenever he was pleased. "We're pretending." Nodding silently, Dean continued to wait, secretly amused at the way Cas gathered his expression and cleared his throat. "I… came with my friends," he looked around stupidly, Dean unable to hold back smiling at how much deeper Cas's already ridiculously deep voice got in his attempts to act.

"Oh yeah?" Dean batted his eyelashes, Sam chuckling into his fist. "I saw them over there. That tall one's kind of ugly," Sam glared, "but the other one is adorable. Maybe you could introduce us."

"Uh…" Cas faltered for a moment, Dean continuing to bat his lashes as he leaned his chin in his hand. "You don't… want to talk to him. He… doesn't like women."

Sam's laughter barked across the bar.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked through his teeth.

"Uh… yes…?"

"Remember Dean, we're helping Cas," Sam muttered, far too amused for his own good. Growling some, Dean took a deep breath in order to push back his irritation and focused back in on Cas.

"Well, that's too bad," the words were bitter. "You're cute though," he winked. "Do you three come in here often?"

"Uh, no, we're just passing through," Cas stumbled out.

"Oh, well that's too bad," Dean tapped his finger against his cheek. "You're here for the night though, right?"

"Y-yes."

" _Perfect_ ," Dean's smile became predatory.

"It is?"

"Christ, Cas, really?" Dean's entire posture dropped, as did his expression. "I'm practically inviting you to sleep with me and you're being a total idiot about it." Cas was visibly hurt by his words, shoulders slumping inside his baggy coat. Which made Dean feel bad. "Look, I'm sorry, but… this isn't going to work if you can't read the signs."

"I'm trying, Dean…"

"Maybe he just needs to be more direct," Sam interjected, attempting to be positive. "Not everyone flirts, you know," he tried to comfort the angel. "And a guy who knows what he wants isn't always a bad thing."

"Yeah, maybe Sam's right," Dean agreed, if only to make Cas feel better. "Most of the people here," he shrugged out at the crowd, "they're lookin' to score anyway. Just… be honest about what you're looking for. Pick someone out and give it a go!"

"Anyone?" Cas's eyebrows had furrowed.

"Anyone," Dean nodded, quite certain that it didn't matter who Cas singled out. He was going to crash and burn anyway. "You just go right on up and get what you want."

"What I want?"

"Exactly." Dean smiled as encouragingly as he could, clapping Cas on the shoulder. "Go get 'em tiger!"

But Cas didn't get up. Rather, he looked at Dean for a few seconds longer before flicking his attention out to the rest of the crowded bar. His focus jumped from group to group, woman to woman, man to man, but none of them stood out to him. It wasn't until Dean's hand began to slide from his shoulder, the warmth it'd possessed leaving him, that he realized what he wanted. He didn't like it, the new chill upon his shoulder. The mark left against his jacket that weighed heavily on his human skin.

Cas didn't desire much, not in the sexual way. But there was one being – one in billions – that he knew he wanted. In  _every_  way. The only one that, upon looking back to his green eyes, he knew he'd readily spend the night with. Every night for however long they possibly could.

Sam had said be direct.

"Cas, wha-"

Dean had told him to go for what he wanted.

"Oh shit."

Sam's swearing was ignored, Cas's whole vessel seeming to jolt with adrenaline as he took his chance. As he leaned forward and, cutting off any questions, pressed his lips to Dean's. He closed his eyes – tightly, because he knew he shouldn't be doing what he was. For all of Dean's attachment, and dependence, and pining, he'd never shown such physical interest in Cas. Never directly, not like this. And Cas knew what he was doing would change everything between them, be that for good or bad. The moment had been so perfect, and Dean was so beautiful – body, soul, everything. Even with the Mark.

It was reckless, and it was stupid, but Dean was the only one Cas wanted.

The only one.

It was in that moment, as Cas fervently pulled at Dean's unresponsive lips with his own, that he felt silence for the first time in years. Yes, felt it. It didn't matter what they were doing, or how far apart they were, or even in what dimensions, it'd become a constant thrumming in the back of Cas's head. That was, Dean's pure and unadulterated longing. Longing for Cas.

But it'd gone quiet, Cas's fear that he'd done the wrong thing – that he'd destroyed it all – dropping down on him with the severity of a thousand pound weight. He'd done this, the kiss, and now Dean didn't want him anymore.

Snapping back, Cas pulled them apart abruptly, thoughts racing as he tried to find a way to quickly fix this. To take it back, or erase it entirely. Because Dean was staring at him with the widest green eyes he'd ever seen, lips tight inside his gaunt cheeks. Shocked. Disgusted maybe. Cas didn't know, couldn't tell anymore, was beginning to panic.

Him, an angel, panic. Over a human man.

What had he done?

But then…

Then it hit him.

Like a canon blast pounding inside his head. Or a gust of wind that threw all the doors and windows open with a single blast.

 _Longing_.

Dean's longing – pushing at him with a force Cas had never registered before. So powerfully that it nearly put him off balance on his stool. Like a drain abruptly unplugged, Dean was bombarding him, the jolt of it all so profound that Cas initially didn't know what to do. He'd never received such a powerful prayer before. Because though it wasn't words, that was what it was. Dean  _begging_  for him.

 _Wanting_  him.

Cas gulped, trying to find something to say. Anything. Because Dean was still staring at him, and  _pleading_ , and Sam was beside them gaping. Even some of the onlookers in the bar were watching.

And then flirting popped into Cas's head. Because " _this isn't going to work if you can't read the signs_."

He cleared his throat. "Did I sufficiently 'get him tiger?'" he asked, voice low and gravelly.

Dean gulped. And blinked. And blushed red against his freckles, failing to say anything. His lips parted, moving up and down silently, yet no noise came forth.

But perhaps he hadn't been direct enough, or so Cas was reasoning. He had to make it clear what he wanted.

"Dean," he leaned forward slightly, "would you like to have intercourse with me?" He said it quietly enough that only those closest could hear, Sam gaping further as Dean's flustered appearance deepened another shade.

But Cas could be patient. He could feel Dean's answer – it was practically stabbing into his consciousness – but humans required formality. Even if all Cas wanted to do was pick Dean up off that stool and whisk him from the room.

"Dean?" Cas said again when no answer was given.

Finally, Dean seemed to snap out of it. Lips pursing closed, he looked from Cas to Sam and back again, his brain slowly catching up with what had happened. Had Cas really just kissed him? And then asked him for sex? Was he dreaming? He'd had this dream before, so he figured it was pretty likely. Yet no matter how many times he blinked, he was still there with Cas's expectantly waiting eyes.

Well, he was supposed to be staying away from bad things – things like sex, especially with another dude. But Cas was an angel, so that had to have some kind of counteractive idea to it. Sleeping with him couldn't possibly be a sin.

Oh shit, he was actually considering this.

Well of course he was considering it. He wanted it. He wanted Cas.

Oh shit, he was going to have sex with Cas…

He was going to have sex with  _Cas_!

"Sam," his voice was louder than expected, his younger brother visibly jumping. "Pay for our drinks." Reaching out, he grabbed Cas by the arm as he stood, pulling the angel off his stool. Followed willingly, Dean tossed one last look at Sam over his shoulder. "Don't come back to the room for a few hours."

Dragging Cas behind him, he pushed his way through the bar and out the door, Sam biting his mouth closed as he watched.

As he slumped back against the bar and took a long drink.

"Well, I guess a direct approach really does work."


	5. Speak and I'll Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean have been neighbors since they were six years old, the fact that Cas is deaf meaning little to Dean until an accident makes it all too clear. Valentine's Day special.
> 
> Rated K for general audiences.

Dean had lived across from Castiel since he was six years old. He still remembered when the Novak's had moved in, and how excited he'd been when a little black-haired boy with a bee stuffed animal had tottered into the house after his mother. Because they'd been the same age, and as far as Dean's six-year-old brain had figured, that meant he got to make a new friend. Dean had always been happy to make friends.

He'd begged his mother for days – from the arms of their couches and edges of countertops – to go and meet them. With Sam on her hip, she'd said, "no, not now," leaving Dean to wander up to his room dejected and staring out his window at the blue house across the lonely road.

Until the weekend had finally arrived, at which point Mary had packed together a welcome basket, spurred John out of the garage, and held Sam's hand as they headed from one side across to the next. Dean had been jumping with excited nerves, smiling with his new football held in his tiny hands.

Up the stone walkway to the porch and front door of the house, Mary had knocked, the group waiting with varying degrees of anticipation.

A thin, mousy, blonde haired woman had answered, looking them up and down in silent surprise that Dean had failed to notice. He'd been too busy trying to peek past her legs into the house, looking for the little boy he'd thought he'd invite to play out in the yard.

"Um, hello," the strange woman had greeted. Mary had said some nice words, introduced them, and soon enough they'd been in the house. Gathered in the kitchen, Dean had looked between the adult's legs with a vigorous kind of searching, hands flexing around the football. Until, finally being noticed by Mary, an explanation had been given.

"Dean saw your son, I think," she'd said to the strange woman, a questioning smile on her bright face, as if to make sure she'd been assuming correctly. "He's been bugging me all week to come over and talk to you so they could play."

"Oh…" Dean had turned hopefully up to them, not perceptive enough to see that the blonde – her name was Amelia – had been fidgeting in unease, her voice hardly above a murmur. "Well…" She'd looked Dean up and down – at his ruffled blonde hair and dirt-smudged face. He'd been teaching Sam how to catch earlier, to little success. "I suppose that… that might be alright."

Both Mary and John had been perplexed by her hesitance, but said nothing on it as she'd walked from the kitchen. Figuring that perhaps she was simply overprotective, they'd instead focused on stopping Sam from wandering under the bar chairs, getting him rounded up just in time for Amelia to return to the room.

She'd been bent over someone, hands on the small shoulders of the little boy walking ahead of her. He'd been gripping his bee stuffed animal, a look of nervousness painted across his delicate features as he'd looked the newcomers up and down. His black hair had been nicely brushed, no filthy spots on his clothes.

None of this had deterred Dean however, who'd bounded forward with a smile, successfully startling the other boy, whose blue eyes had widened in surprise.

"Hi, I'm Dean," he'd said, grinning as he'd reached up and wiped at his nose. "I live across the street. I brought this football if you want to play," he'd gripped it tight. "I was trying to teach my brother how to play, but he's not old enough and…" Dean had then wavered, finally noticing the way the other boy had shied away from him. Smile dropping, he'd blinked, not understanding what he'd done wrong.

And then the little boy had turned into his mother, his bee dropping to the floor as he'd tugged at her sleeve. There'd been little, squeaking moans coming from between his lips – like the sounds Sam had sometimes made when he'd been unhappy, but that Dean had long since stopped uttering. He'd been clearly distressed, Dean gaping.

"It's okay," Amelia had said as she'd crouched down, attempting to comfort him. Dean hadn't understood what she'd been doing however. Her fingers had flurried in strange ways, her son reaching out to grip at them as he'd continued to whine. No words though, just sound.

All Dean had registered was that something had been wrong.

Behind him, Mary had taken a quick breath in, drawing Dean's attention as she'd come up and stooped down beside him. She'd laid her hand on his back, smiling comfortingly as Dean had turned to her.

"What'd I do?"

"Nothing honey," she'd assured. "He's just a little nervous is all."

"But why?"

"Well, because, Dean," she'd looked only quickly to Amelia, who'd been staring back anxiously before then focusing back on her son. "He can't hear you." Dean had blinked, clearly not understanding. The other little boy had still been whining, tears trailing down his cheeks as his mother continued to try and calm him with her strange hand motions. "He's deaf."

"Deaf?" Dean had blurted gracelessly. "What's that?"

"His ears don't work," Mary had tried to make it as simple as possible, able to easily sense the nerves of the other mother, who'd looked nearly as uncomfortable as her son. "He can't hear what you're saying."

"Oh…" Dean had looked back to the other little boy, who'd then been plain-old crying. Dean could get that though. Crying. He cried all the time. Not as much as Sammy, but his little brother had still been like a baby. "I didn't know…"

"It's okay," Mary had assured, still with that soft smile. Perhaps, had Dean been less extroverted, been less interested in others, been less compassionate, his dealings with the other little boy might have ended there – due to mutual discomfort. Dean simply hadn't been that kind of little boy however. Instead, he'd set his football down and slowly – like when he'd tried to catch the stray cats that came into the yard – walked a little closer.

The other little boy had turned to watch him, gripping tighter at his mother's sleeve. He'd still been sniffling, and whining a little, but Dean hadn't let it deter him. Instead, reaching down, he'd picked up the bee before taking another step forward. Holding it out, he'd offered it back, smiling a little as he had.

At first, he thought the other little boy hadn't been going to take it, and his heart had fallen. But then Amelia had motioned something else to him. Something that made those tiny squeaks come to a stop.

Tentatively, with one hand still holding tight to his mother's sleeve, a little hand had reached out to retrieve the bee. He'd taken it slowly, gently, from Dean before hugging it to his chest. As if feeling a little more secure, he'd finally let go of his mother, both hands hugging the bee as he'd looked Dean up and down.

As Dean had grinned.

"What's his name?" Dean then asked, looking directly to Amelia, whose relief went unnoticed by him.

"His name is Castiel," she'd replied with a small, reassured smile. "Castiel," she'd tapped her son on the shoulder, who'd looked up sharply. "This is Dean," she'd been motioning again, Dean watching with a gaping mouth. "D-e-a-n," she'd made the same motions over again, slower, those little hands around the bee mimicking her unconsciously before Castiel's eyes had flicked back.

A small little squeak then left Castiel's throat, one that reminded Dean of Sam when he'd been a littler baby. When he'd wanted Dean to pick him up and pull him across the floor, hands outstretched.

Brave as ever, Dean had held out his own hand. Like Sam had used to. Lots of words had jumped to his tongue, but Castiel wouldn't have heard him, he knew, so he'd done whatever else he could. He'd waited, those big blue eyes flicking between his face and his fingers.

Until, rather shyly, Castiel had let down his bee, one hand still around its wing while the other had hesitantly grabbed Dean's own. Squeezing back, Dean had then taken another step closer to him, smiling a little wider.

He hadn't noticed how the back of Amelia's hand had gone to her trembling lips, or how Mary had watched with the proudest eyes any mother could have had.

Instead, Castiel's hand now firm inside his own, Dean had pulled them right up close together, side by side, before pointing to the door.

"Do you want to play outside?" he'd asked despite knowing he couldn't be heard. The mother had spoken to Castiel after all, and he'd quickly noticed how the other boy watched his lips. Because Dean was an intuitive problem solver, and had quickly picked Castiel apart. "Out-side," he'd said again, those blue eyes blinking at him. "Pl-ay."

Castiel had then made some motion with his hand that Dean didn't understand, but then pointed to the door too, bee still in-hand.

"Yeah!" Dean had said excitedly, gently beginning to tug Castiel across the kitchen. "C'mon!" Stumbling across the floor, they'd headed out into the sunlight.

Within hours, they were inseparable.

It took a few days for Dean to grow accustomed to Cas – mostly because of his tendency to exclaim at random times, either in shock, or excitement, or even simply because Dean wasn't doing something to his taste. He never actually spoke, which Dean managed to puzzle out on his own. Obviously, since he couldn't hear anyone else speaking, he didn't know how.

This didn't, however, mean they couldn't communicate. Rather, Dean just found different ways to talk to him. Be it by pulling him along, or simply by looking at him. Gestures even, which, though they weren't the same ones Cas used with his mother, meant something between the two boys. They had their own language, one no one else understood. It wasn't complicated, or artful, but it was enough. Because most of the time they didn't need such things at all. Dean knew when Cas was upset just by the look in his eyes, and Cas started to read him too.

But sometimes, like when Dean had taught Cas how to throw the football, or when Cas'd had to explain to Dean how to properly color in the lines, they simply took one another's hands and worked through it. Dean laid his arm up with Cas's until he was throwing the ball the way John had taught him, and Cas had cupped his hand over Dean's to guide him along the black edges of the paper.

They spent hours, weeks, together. Sometimes with Sam, mostly not. They rushed down the grassy hill behind Cas's house to the pond with the tadpoles, where they fished around and stuck them in buckets. They galloped barefoot around in Mary's garden after it rained, lifting rocks and stumps and picking out the toads before letting them loose in the entranceway when Dean heard them called in for lunch. They chased cats through the fields nearby and went swimming in the creek beside the wood. Until Dean completely forgot that maybe Cas was different.

When they started going to school, and Dean ran over to get Cas to catch the bus, they were both saddened to learn they went to different schools. That Dean went to the one in town whereas Cas was driven further off by Amelia. As soon as he got home however, Dean waited on the stump outside Cas's house, dirty legs swinging until their old Lincoln came pulling into the drive. And on the nights when Dean had homework and couldn't meet him right away, Cas went running to Mary or Amelia, his hands flurrying down his cheeks in question. Because that was his sign for "Dean." It meant "freckles," or so Amelia had explained.

When snow fell, and the days grew shorter, they were more than likely at one house or the other, running rampant before being sent to bed. Dean's clothes were in Cas's laundry and Cas's in Dean's until they didn't have to bring anything with them to sleep over. Sometimes, when John stayed late at the shop, Mary let Dean turn up the speakers connected to the old record player. Cas would lie up against them, feeling the way the music thrummed through his whole body with a small smile pulling at his lips. And when he stayed up at Cas's, they built tents with brooms and blankets, sneaking through them with flashlights and giggles before collapsing in exhaustion. Sometimes they got out Cas's picture books before they went to bed, Dean reading out loud with his fingers trailing under the words so Cas could watch the way his lips moved.

During the summer when they were both eight, the farmer next door sold his property. Watching from the tree house John had built, Dean, Cas, and Sam saw as the houses began to creep closer – big, giant things that all looked the same and didn't have any trees in their yards. Until Dean heard Amelia talking to Mary about a sign, one that she thought needed to be put up about a "Deaf Child Area" because the road was getting busier.

When it was finally put up that autumn, Dean had watched as Cas huffed angrily and kicked and punched at the metal pole, howling out in frustration. Dean had held his hand until he'd calmed down, pulling him down to the pond where they'd tossed rocks –

Cas's harder than usual – before collapsing into the dirt, side by side, Cas's head on Dean's shoulder.

The year they turned ten, Dean really started to realize how much his parents fought. And that his father didn't stay away so much because he was working late. He'd cried a lot that summer, and Cas had held his hand too. And pulled him close when John had moved out. Cheek to cheek, they'd curled up in the tree house, Sammy on Dean's other side as John took off down the road in his old pickup truck.

Cas's dad wasn't around either, Dean finally getting the gumption to wonder about it. And when Amelia brought tea over to Mary, he learned that Jimmy Novak hadn't been able to handle the pressure. That Cas had been too much for him. Dean hadn't understood, personally, because Cas had always seemed like just enough to him.

It was the spring they turned eleven that things changed.

After school, football in hand, Dean sprinted his way over to Cas's upon seeing their old Lincoln pull up. Waving as Cas hauled his books from the car, he got a smile as said books were set on the porch. Cas flurried his fingers around his cheeks as he always did upon them meeting, Dean holding up the ball in invitation. Cas knew he was trying out for peewee football – he'd shown him the flyer the day before – and so nodded in agreement to helping Dean practice.

Before that, however, Cas paused. He reached out and grabbed Dean's sleeve, stopping him in his tracks. Turning to him, Dean cocked his head to the side curiously, a deliberately questioning look on his face. Because Cas looked nervous, and was staring at the ground.

Gripping Dean's sleeve a little tighter, he bit the inside of his cheek before finally looking up again.

He opened his mouth, pausing for only second before he spoke.

One word.

"Dean."

He said it slowly, like his tongue was slow over each sound, but there was no mistaking it. Eyes wide, Dean gaped, unsure what to think until it was said again. And then one more time.

Smiling, chest constricting in a way he didn't understood, Dean dropped his football before catching Cas up in his spindly arms. Cheek to cheek, he held him, that which he felt in that moment something he didn't realize he didn't understand. But it didn't matter, as Cas had embraced him back, nose burrowed against his neck. And smelling like honey and cinnamon, and all things Dean' had learned were good.

That was how Cas greeted Dean from then on. Until the name rolled from his tongue with expert skill, sounding just as it should, yet somehow better because Cas had been the one saying it.

They spent that spring throwing the football more than anything else, Dean having earned the position of quarterback and wanting, more than anything, to be the best. The sun was setting, sending a warm, orange glow through the whole sky. The beauty of the sunset, however, wasn't enough to improve Dean's mood any. He was irritated, Cas watching him with a critical eye as he expertly caught every catch Dean chucked at him.

Because that was just it. With all his practice with Cas, Dean really had become one of the best players on the team. The issue, however, was with the fact that none of the others could keep up with him. The receivers didn't run fast enough to catch where he wanted to throw the ball, and he was continually holding himself back.

But there was one who could. Cas. Cas had always kept up with him. Probably because he'd been Dean's receiver longer than any of the kids on his team had even been playing. He wanted Cas to join the team; and since it wasn't school affiliated, Dean knew he could. Together, they'd be unstoppable. But when he'd brought it up to Amelia, she'd refused. Even when Cas had asked, holding up the peewee flier, she'd been dead-set against it. Too dangerous for Cas, she'd reasoned. And no amount of persuasion from Dean had cracked her.

Which was why they were stuck out in the front yard, practicing like always.

Cas's sympathetic looks weren't enough however, not this time, and, growling, Dean put all his force into his throw. All his strength. Intent, Cas watched it, turning to sprint back when it was clear it'd go right over his head.

Over the edge of the yard too, and out into the road.

Dean had a hard time, looking back, remembering whether it had happened slowly or more quickly. He'd known a car was coming up the hill – he'd heard it rumbling – but hadn't realized fast enough for Cas. Probably because he'd been telling himself for years that Cas really wasn't so different, that there wasn't anything wrong with him.

Yet it was in that moment, slow or fast as it'd been, that Cas's disability had been clear as day to him. Because Cas was watching the ball, arms outstretched, and wasn't looking around like he'd been taught.

Dean tried to warn him, but no amount of screaming his name was going to make him stop. Cas didn't hear him. Couldn't.

Nor did he hear the screeching of tires, or his mother's shrieking as she rushed out the door. The only thing he registered was the leather of the ball in his hands and then the pounding of his body as he was tossed to the side.

Like a bloody ragdoll. Dean watched it all, too shocked to do more than reach out to him.

Everything after was a haze. He remembered the car rushing off – a hit and run. And there'd been a flashing of red and blue lights. Mary had been there, cradling his tear-streaked face against her chest as they'd loaded the gurney into the ambulance with the tiny body strapped into it. As they'd driven off, sirens blaring with Amelia in the old Lincoln following after.

In the days after, Mary had asked Dean many times if he wanted to go to the hospital. To see Castiel. But he'd refused every time. Instead, he'd stayed up in his room, sometimes crying and sometimes buried in his blankets with the lights turned out. Until finally his mother quit asking him.

Cas was in the hospital for a long time, he knew that. What, exactly, had been broken about him, he'd never asked. Probably because he never went to visit him. Not once. And Mary didn't push him, seeming more distressed with his depression than why he wasn't going to visit the source of it. When Cas finally came home, Mary tried repeatedly to get him to go over and see him, but Dean always said no. Amelia came over too, asking about him, but he never came out of his room when she had. Rather, he came up with excuses not to go over there. Excuses that stretched from weeks to months, Dean unable to even face Cas when he'd come over directly.

Until, finally, upon seeing each other across the road, Dean had put his trash in the garbage can while pretending Cas hadn't been doing the same. And that was when it'd ended.

Years passed. Dean distracted himself with school, and new friends, and fixing up the Impala his father had left behind. The houses encroached on their area until the road had been turned into a neighborhood, and that Cas and Dean didn't acknowledge each other became no stranger than the fact that not all the neighbors knew one another. They saw each other occasionally, but Dean wasn't home much and Cas had long since been moved into another special school. Not one for the deaf, but one for the intellectually gifted. One that only had him home on the weekends.

As it were, it was Dean's sixteenth birthday. Cold, even for January, but he was out putting the trash in the can just like always, despite the fact that he'd argued with his mother about Sam doing it. Seeing as it  _was_  his special day.

Clapping the lid back into place, he'd shoved the trash down, about ready to head back inside when nearby laughter drew his attention. Were it not for the fact that it was late on a Friday night, he might not have cared. But his reputation at school, as well as his popularity, made him a prime target for shenanigans such as teepee-ing and other irritants. Eyes narrowing into a glare, he walked beyond the privacy fence, looking down the street for the culprits.

When he spotted them, however, it wasn't his house they were aiming for. Rather, they were clustered together across the street, in front of the bushes Amelia had planted a few years prior. When the neighborhood had exploded – similarly to how Mary had put up her fence.

Ears tuned, Dean listened.

"No, look, write this," one of them was saying, laughing afterward.

"Ha, Freak, yeah," said another, Dean's hair bristling on the back of his neck.

"I put Retard on this one."

"Oh, that's a good one."

Part of Dean wanted to scatter them, to barrel over and send them running. Yet his feet remained planted, his own fear, and guilt, keeping him still. Until one of the bigger of the group took the brick with the paper taped to it and pulled his arm back. He chucked it over the bush, the crashing of glass starting Dean out of his stupor.

"Hey!" he yelled, the group turning back to him as he stomped across the street in pursuit.

He heard one of them swear as they dispersed, Dean reaching their position just as they'd all dashed off into the darkness. They'd dropped their ammo, their brick pieces with their foul words littering the sidewalk. Bending down, angry and disgusted, Dean picked up one of them, his stomach roiling at the "stupid" scrawled across the paper taped to it.

He didn't know someone was watching him until another brick clunked to the ground in front of him.

Eyes flicking up quickly, he gaped at the boy who stood there. Blue eyes, dark hair, and upset, pursed lips.

Castiel.

Blinking, Dean didn't know what to say initially. Not until he realized that Cas's look was directed at him. Looking around rather foolishly, it occurred to him how bad this looked. That a brick had just gone shooting through the Novak's front window and now Dean, who'd all out refused to even talk to Cas for the last four years, was standing in the middle of all the evidence.

"Cas," he said as he stood, hand reaching out. "I didn't- It wasn't-"

It didn't matter what he said however. Because Cas couldn't hear him.

Instead, Dean was forced to watch as those blue eyes narrowed to accusing slits, hurt and betrayal painted across every bit of Cas's expression. Because after Dean had acted following the accident, how he'd totally and completely abandoned Cas, it wasn't too farfetched to think him capable of something as horrific as this. Not when Cas had already been so terribly hurt by him once before.

A thousand explanations flitted through Dean's head, but none of them meant anything. Feeling around in his coat, he searched for a pen and paper, anything, but there was none. And then, lips trembling, eyes blinking rapidly, Cas turned away. He disappeared behind the foliage, Dean gasping out helplessly. He wanted to follow him, but what would he do if he did?

He couldn't communicate with Cas, not anymore. And sign language was something he'd never learned.

Never bothered to.

Dean had gone back home feeling that, even over the first one his father had been absent from, this was the worst birthday he'd ever had. Somewhere, deep, deep inside, he'd always entertained the idea that, by some miracle, him and Cas would reunite some day. They'd finally just run into each other and Dean wouldn't have to come up with the courage to go over there himself. Face his guilt and everything he'd done.

But this… this was so much worse than that. Because Cas thought he'd thrown a brick through his window with a horrible message written across it. Even if they were to run into each other, Cas would hate him.

His best friend  _hated him_.

No, they'd stopped being best friends a long time ago. When Dean had been too much of a coward to face what he'd done to Cas. When he'd forcefully severed ties between them due to his own stupid shame.

But it was one thing to hurt Cas once, and quite another to do it twice, and in such a horribly offensive manner. In a way that reminded Dean of the "Deaf Child Area" sign and how Cas had reacted to it. Because Cas's dad had left, and now Cas thought Dean had thrown bricks at him.

No, this wasn't okay.

It hadn't been okay for a long time.

The following day, Dean went to the school library. He checked out every single book he could on sign language – something he should have done a long time ago. He lugged them all home and studied harder than he ever had for anything. He stayed up for hours, making flash cards, practicing. Until he'd read three ASL books front to back and over again. He practiced in the mirror the single message that he wanted to be perfect, using it as a reason to keep putting off going across the street to deliver it.

And then, a month later, he got off the bus and looked across the street to something he never thought he'd see.

A moving truck, loaded from top to bottom with all the familiar furniture he remembered from his childhood.

Maybe he panicked a little.

Maybe, when his mother asked him to go to the grocery store later that night, he did so in a daze. Because Cas was moving. He was leaving. And the last five years that Dean had stayed away had been wasted.

He was going to move and take his hatred for Dean with him.

Walking down the aisles at the local grocer, he shoved things into the cart lazily, helplessness making him feel lethargic. Because what could he possibly do? Sure, he could apologize, but then what? Cas was leaving.

He'd be  _gone_.

Pushing his cart toward the checkout lane, he passed a Valentine's Day display that, normally, he would have paid no mind. It was the night of February the 13th, so all the stores were stocked full. But Dean didn't have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. He hadn't ever wanted one.

And then, tucked in the back row of the display, something out of the ordinary – something yellow and black – caused him to pause.

A stuffed bee with a chocolate rose strapped inside its fuzzy legs. There was a cheesy tag to match, one that said "Bee Mine."

Perhaps it was corny, and not exactly the message Dean was trying to send, but it was just so perfect. He bought it, brought it home. Unloading the groceries for his mother, he then practiced his speech one more time in the mirror before taking a deep breath and gathering his courage. Because it was now or never.

End game.

With the bee in a plastic bag, he headed across the street to the Novak's. Amelia's car wasn't there – Dean knew she worked nights – but the light inside was on. It was a Friday, which meant Cas was home.

Going to the door, he punched the bell that would spur a flashing light to go off in every room, alerting Cas that someone was there. He waited, fidgeting some, nerves surging to his throat when the light behind the door flicked on. A second later, Cas was pulling it open, Dean freezing as those blue eyes hit him.

They stood, simply staring at each other, for a few seconds, Dean gulping. It wasn't until Cas's lips pursed, expression dropping into irritation, that Dean pushed himself to do something. Because getting the door slammed in his face wasn't part of the plan.

"I'm sorry!" he burst out, his thumb twitching out from his chin before he circled his fist over his chest. The signing was what caught Cas's attention, obviously, his expression clearing of his annoyance for a shocked second. Taking a deep breath – because he had Cas's attention at least for the moment – Dean dropped his grocery bag before continuing.

"I'm not the one who was throwing bricks through your window," he explained, hoping his signs were in accordance. "I saw someone else and chased after them. And then you came out and saw me. I know that doesn't excuse everything I've done, but I just wanted you to know that. I'd never… call you those things." The book had said he should speak as he signed, but it still felt strange. Because, for the first time in twelve years, Cas might actually know what he was trying to say.

Those blue eyes, wide as they were, simply blinked however, Dean prompted by inaction to continue.

"I'm sorry," he said again, hoping it meant something more as he circled his fist around his chest over and over.

And then something amazing happened.

Cas spoke to him.

" _You learn sign_ ," he hands said, Dean watching his expert speed and having to break it down before he understood. Because he'd never actually had a conversation in sign language before.

"Yes," he nodded.

" _When?_ "

"Uh," he fumbled, the skill still rather new to him. He was slow in continuing, none of this part of his rehearsed speech. And quite a few words he had to spell out, simply because he hadn't learned the faster signs yet. "This last month. After the bricks."

" _Why?_ " Cas's expression was fascinated, his question seeming odd. Because Dean thought he'd made his reasons clear. But perhaps he'd messed something up.

"Because," he double-checked himself. "I wanted to talk to you."

A broken whimper left Cas's lips, Dean unsure what to make of such a reaction. Because Cas appeared suddenly desperate, his eyes blinking as though he were upset.

"I'm sorry," Dean said again.

" _You learn so talk me?_ " Cas signed once more. " _We not talk many years_."

"I know," Dean nodded, ashamed. "I should have learned before. A long time ago. Years ago. I never should have stopped talking to you." He hoped it was getting across to Cas, but his hands were a little shaky.

" _Why you stop talking me?_ " Cas persisted. " _Not come over anymore. What I do?_ " Dean's throat went dry then, Cas's searching, open eyes looking more hurt than ever. He was blaming himself for Dean's distance. He'd assumed it was his fault, which was the furthest thing from the truth. And only made Dean feel worse.

"You didn't do anything," Dean replied. "I did. I… I hurt you."

" _Hurt me?_ " Cas shook his head. " _You never hurt me._ "

"It was my fault," Dean went on. "The accident. You got hit by that car because of me." He wanted to say more, to go into detail about how he'd been angry, and he'd thrown the ball too hard. That he'd been selfishly frustrated and thoughtless. But he didn't know enough to say that. Didn't know how.

" _Not because you_ ," Cas cut in quickly. " _Get hit because I stupid. Because run into street. Not look._ " Cas's shoulders fell. " _You think your fault?_ "

"I threw the ball…"

" _I run after ball._ " Cas sighed, his hands coming up to flurry over his face. Freckles.  _Dean_.

"I heard the car coming," Dean admitted, his voice broken as his hands shook worse. "I couldn't warn you. I screamed at you, but I couldn't…"

" _I not hear,_ " Cas smiled softly. " _Never hear. Not your fault. Never your fault._ "

Dean was pretty sure Cas could see the way he blinked back the tears. "You could have  _died_."

Cas released a shaky breath. " _But I not. I okay._ "

Dean shook his head, images of Cas's limp body, bloody and laying the middle of the street, flashing through his head.

"Dean," his name left Cas's lips, forcing Dean's eyes up to him. "I'm… okay."

A tear did fall then, Dean reaching up and quickly wiping it away.

"I know," he nodded. "I was just… afraid."

Cas's lips pursed. For a moment, there was no signing between them, the light from the house shining down onto the porch as Dean tried to get his breathing under control. As Cas looked him over, his hands hesitant before he began again.

"Dean," the word fell off his tongue easily, green eyes coming back up to him. " _I…_ " he paused, his hand held out from his chin. " _I alone without you._ " This time it was Cas whose breath was shaking, Dean feeling guilt drop upon his shoulders yet again.

"You must have had other friends in school," Dean reasoned. "You must have."

" _No,_ " Cas shook his head. Not to disagree, but because Dean wasn't understanding. Taking a step forward, he repeated himself. " _I alone without_   _ **you**_." His finger came forward, brushing Dean's chest before it fell back to his side. He looked at Dean anxiously, willing him to understand, but Dean's furrowed brows verified his confusion. " _You best friend,_ " Cas continued. " _Always together. You important. You_ _ **everything**_ _._ "

Dean thought his heart would fold right up in his chest.

"I know," Dean nodded. "I'm sorry. I-"

" _ **No!**_ " Cas shook his head furiously. " _Not care about sorry. Not matter. You not understand me. You…_ " he gulped, nervous. " _You most important._

" _Love you._   _I… fall in love._   _Long time ago. Always you._ "

Dean had to run those signs through his head a few times, if only because he was certain he wasn't interpreting them correctly. But it didn't matter how many times he considered it, it still came out the same. Cas hadn't just said he loved him, he'd said he was  _in_  love with him. There was a specific sign for that and he'd used it. And then pointed at him.

Cas was in love with him.

"All this time?" Dean managed to fumble out.

" _Forever_."

And it was then, staring into those blue eyes, than Dean realized why he'd never been interested in anyone else. Maybe they'd been young, maybe they hadn't even known what love was, but that hadn't meant it wasn't there. It hadn't meant that the whole time Dean had been separated from Cas, he hadn't been feeling it too.

Been tortured by it for years.

Gathering himself, Dean crouched down. Reaching into the plastic bag he'd dropped previously, he pulled out the cheesy bee valentine before, cheeks flushing, handing it forth. Taking it, Cas squeezed it much like he had his own old stuffed animal years before, reading the card before flicking his eyes back up to Dean.

Certain he could at least get this one right, Dean silently moved his hand.

" _Me too._ "

It'd been such a long time since he'd seen Cas smile.

And then the bee was dropped to the porch, Dean's eyes wide as Cas reached out and took him by his jacket. Pulling forward, Cas pressed their lips together, Dean falling into it seconds after as he returned the gesture. As his heart surged in his chest, his lips sucking at Cas's greedily. They stood together for a long moment, basking in the fact that, even after so many years, it felt exactly right.

Perfect.

When they did pull away, lips swollen and pink, Cas's smile returned, Dean's following quickly after. Yet, despite how thrilled he was with where this was going, one thing was still bothering him. Hands gripping Cas's waist, he articulated his words as he spoke, so his lips might be read.

"You're moving away."

"Just to town," Cas said, his hands linked behind Dean's neck as he spoke with a clarity Dean would have liked to hear develop. "Closer to school."

"You've gotten really good at talking."

"I…" Cas smiled. "I wanted to talk to you."

And so Dean kissed  _him_  that time. He kissed him all night long.


	6. Perfectly Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumors about Dean Winchester's attempted suicide flood the hallways, but it isn't until Castiel finds a note from him in his locker that he considers doing something about it. Beginning a friendship that would lead them both home.
> 
> Rated T for adult themes.

"Dean Winchester tried to commit suicide last night."

They were the kind of rumors one never expected to hear when they walked through their school hallways. Of course it happened – it was in the news, kids and teenagers, they really did it sometimes. But it wasn't until it actually happened, that it was too late, that such things really hit home.

Castiel, gaping at what was being whispered around him, was sort of shell-shocked by the whole thing.

He wasn't particularly close to Dean Winchester. In fact, it was nearly the opposite. He'd even go so far as to say that the two of them didn't get along in the slightest. Dean was the always smiling, ever-extroverted jock type. Friends with everyone – everyone that was approved of anyway. Castiel wouldn't say he was a bully per se, but he certainly didn't stand up for any of the victims, as Castiel often found himself to be. He was more the type to stand in the background and laugh, not totally unsympathetic, but unhelpful as well.

And Castiel, well, he'd been outed accidentally by his cousin the year before, which meant he was the target of every sort of ridicule possible. To say he'd been bullied even more than previously was a bit of an understatement. Studious and smart, he hadn't exactly been in a good light in the first place, and being gay had only made it worse. But he'd kept his head up through it all, and had friends enough to stand it. He was optimistic, to say the least.

But if anyone were a fly on the wall in their high school, he knew he'd be the one supposed of trying such a thing. Not Dean Winchester. Not perfect, beautiful Dean Winchester.

"Wh… what do you mean?" Castiel asked dumbly, voice airy as he looked between Gabriel (said cousin who had given him away, and that he'd forgiven anyway) and Anna.

"What do you mean 'what do you mean?'" Gabriel hissed back, his eyes alight with the gossip. That was the type he was, always gathering the best and biggest news no matter the situation. Not in a harmful way. Usually. "Dean friggen' Winchester. I mean, I don't know what happened for real, but people are saying his mom found him in his room with his wrists slit. He's in the psyche ward of the hospital now. No one's allowed to see him, not even his parents."

"Wow," Anna's hand was cupping her lips, her expression just as dumbfounded as Castiel's.

"Kinda crazy, huh. Who'd of thought, Dean Winchester. He's, like, the most popular guy in school."

"That doesn't mean anything, Gabriel," Castiel said, his voice clearly scolding.

"How is it," Gabriel crossed his arms, "that the guy can be totally terrible to you and you still don't hold anything against him? I mean, you do know he's the one that started the rumor about you being gay in the first place, right? Before I accidentally gave it away?"

Castiel pursed his lips. "I never said I  _liked_  the guy." But it still stood that someone he knew had tried to take their own life, had felt so cornered and desperate that they'd thought there was no other way out. What did it take, to get to that point? What had happened to Dean to make him feel like death was a better option?

Granted, Castiel went through his fair share of abuse – more than his fair share – but he'd never considered suicide before. Never even thought it an option.

"Hey, break it up," a teacher was saying as she passed them, probably having overheard their conversation. "Get going, get to your lockers." Throwing each other knowing looks, the three split up, Castiel heading down to his locker, for once not getting heckled because he wasn't the main concern on everyone's mind. Not that he was thankful. It was sad, really, and as he reached his locker, he found himself once again wondering about it. Like it was this big black hole of curiosity that would never be satisfied.

Eyebrows pulled together contemplatively, Castiel punched in his combination before pulling his locker open. The sheet of paper that flitted out fell softly to his feet.

Head cocking, Castiel stared at it for a moment, all nicely folded and taped, before bending down to pick it up. Looking it over front and back, he saw that his name was etched into one side by a pen. This wasn't something that belonged to him. Rather, it'd been given to him. Maybe slipped in-between the locker vents.

Heart picking up a little at the mystery of it all, he looked around quickly to make sure no one was paying him any mind before he closed his locker and walked over to the nearest window. Standing in the light, his backpack still strapped to his shoulders, he slipped his finger under the tape before opening up the page.

What he saw was a long, handwritten note, his eyes first darting around to the graceful pen strokes before taking note of the rumpled spots where it looked like it'd been wet. These things didn't mean anything however, not until he actually started reading, his mouth partway open as he did.

_Castiel,_

_First of all, I don't really know why I'm writing this. To you. I mean, I don't know you, and I've done a lot of horrible things to you, and you probably hate me. But I don't know who else I would say these things to, and I feel like someone should know. Maybe that's selfish, but you're the only person who might understand._

_You probably don't know anything about my family, but my parents aren't the most liberal types. My dad especially, which is I guess where this is coming from. You probably don't care, and I don't blame you for that, but you're the only gay person I know. That I've met, I mean. I'm a little confused right now, to be honest. Because my dad and my church all say it's wrong, but then there are other people that say it's okay, and I just don't know what to do anymore. No one knows this, my parents and the pastor are keeping it shut up, but my mom found my stash of gay porn under my mattress. She told my dad, and now they've been taking me to these counseling sessions at the church. They keep telling me I'm sick, but I don't feel sick. And my dad doesn't talk to me anymore, he won't even look at me. And my mom only talks to me when she has to and acts like what I am is going to infect my little brother or something. She actually told him not to talk to me, and I feel so alone. None of my friends know, and I know I can't tell them. But I heard my parents talking last night, and they said they're going to send me to some pray the gay away camp this summer and I'm really scared to go. I don't want to go. I'm just really scared. And I don't know what to do anymore. If there is something wrong with me, then what am I supposed to do? My dad hates me. My mom thinks I'm messed up. And I don't have anyone to talk to._

_I just wish it was all over, or that I wasn't like this. But every website I've been to has told me there's nothing wrong with me, that it's just the way I am. But if I can't be fixed, then that's almost worse. Because my whole family is going to hate me forever and I don't think I can deal with that. I don't want to deal with any of it anymore, and I'm so afraid of what everyone will say. I see the way they treat you and I don't know how you take it. You're so brave, and I'm not. I'm not strong like you are, and I just want it all to be over._

_I just want it to end._

_I guess if you're reading this, then I probably made my decision. I wouldn't give it to you if I hadn't. And I don't expect you to care. I just wanted someone to know. Like maybe writing this to you is like really talking to you, I don't know. I don't know anything._

_I'm really sorry for everything I did to you. I've never said this to another guy before, but since it doesn't matter anymore, I guess I can. I think you're really cute, and I wish I'd actually talked to you, at least once. It's too late now, but I want you to know that. I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry._

_Dean_

It took Castiel a moment to recover, the tear that had leaked down his cheek going totally unknown to him. It occurred to him some seconds later that he was holding a suicide note. That Dean Winchester had written one and that  _he'd_  been the recipient. He didn't really know what to make of that, and part of him was shocked. Shocked that this would happen at all. That he was so much closer to what had happened than he realized.

And then he was sad, his chest shaking as the terrible, horrible realization of what had happened occurred to him. Dean was gay, or something like, and he'd tried to kill himself because of it. Because his family hadn't supported him the way Castiel's had, and none of his friends had known. For a moment, Castiel realized that he might have been in Dean's shoes once. That he was only a step away from being that person too.

He didn't know Dean Winchester that well, but holding that letter, he realized that he – in that moment – knew him better than anyone. And that was heartbreaking.

The paper was crumpling in his hand, and he was wiping his eyes, the hall behind empty. Because the bell had rung already and he was still standing out there, staring at the note, trying to figure out what to do.

Dean had reached out to him, even if he hadn't intended to be alive when Castiel read what he'd written. He was the only one, of everyone Dean knew, that understood the truth. That actually got it.

Castiel had been alone once too, and he didn't wish that feeling on anyone.

Folding the note abruptly, he stuffed it into his pocket before heading down the hall. He went straight for the front doors, his legs carrying him to his car before he even had the chance to realize he was there. Tossing his bag in the back seat, he was soon pulling out of the school, no care at all for anything but where he was going. Where he knew he  _needed_  to go.

There was a stigma about suicide, he was fully aware of that. Even if people felt bad for you, they wouldn't acknowledge it, not unless they were the closest, most understanding of friends. Castiel wasn't that for Dean, but his letter had also made it clear that no one else was either. That was reason enough. Castiel defended his actions with that in mind.

There was only one hospital nearby, so Castiel went there. He parked and headed inside. The woman at the front desk told him that Dean was on the eighth floor, the psyche floor, and that his room was 818. So Castiel went up.

It was a closed floor however, and he had to check in before he could see anyone.

"I'm really sorry," the receptionist was telling him. "Mr. Winchester is being kept under observation until further notice. No one is allowed to see him."

"Is he okay, though?" Castiel asked, beginning to get anxious. "He's not in critical condition or anything, right?"

"I can't…" she was shaking her head. "I don't have that kind of-"

"You're here to see Dean Winchester?" A woman had just walked through the double doors, her brown hair cut short, a clipboard in her hands. She looked Castiel up and down as she approached, her white lab coat flapping some. "You're not a member of his family."

"No, I…" Castiel gulped. "My name is Castiel Novak. I'm… I know him from school." He didn't, not really, but that seemed like a convincing enough thing to say.

"Castiel," the doctor nodded. "He mentioned you."

"He did?" Castiel was honestly surprised.

"Why don't you come with me," she issued, nodding toward the corner of the empty waiting room. "I'd like to speak with you."

"Uh, alright," Castiel agreed, following her over before they sat down. Well away from where the receptionist might hear.

"My name is Dr. Mills," she continued, her voice firm yet understanding in the same motion. "I'm Dean's psychologist." Castiel nodded, eyebrows furrowed, but didn't interrupt. "I've been talking a lot with him today, so I have a pretty good idea about what's happening here. I also know that he gave you a note, before this happened."

"Yes, he did," Castiel nodded, reaching into his pocket before pulling it out. He handed it to her, supposing that perhaps she could get more out of it than he could.

"Castiel," she looked down at the note only quickly before turning her attention back to him. "I'll be honest, I'm little surprised to find you here. Dean made it pretty clear that you two weren't friends. That he felt he'd done some pretty terrible things to you." Castiel pursed his lips. "He's in a very vulnerable position right now, as I'm sure you've gathered." Pause. "Part of me wants to let you in to see him, but only after you tell me why you came here."

"I thought no one was allowed to see him?"

"They're not," she affirmed. "For his own safety. Which is why, again, I want to know why you came here today."

"Well, I…" Castiel grappled for the right words. "We… we don't really know each other, that's true, but I know… I know what it's like to feel guilty, and to be alone. And I don't want anyone else to feel the way." Really, that was the truth of it.

"You don't hold any ill will toward him?"

He considered the question for a moment. "No, I don't," he finally decided. "I know why he acted the way he did, and I know how frustrating it can be. But it was worse for him. His family isn't like mine. He needs someone, and if I'm not it, then who else will be?"

Dr. Mills smiled just shortly. Maybe a little bitterly.

"You're right," she nodded. "He does need someone. He needs a friend. A real friend. I've already spoken with his family, namely his father, and it doesn't look good. But when I asked him if there was anyone he could go to, he didn't have anyone. I'm not ignorant to these types of things, and his father's lack of sympathy over what happened tells me a lot. Castiel… Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"I- yes," he nodded. "Yes, I understand."

"He's still a minor, and it'd be frowned upon me letting you in to see him, especially without any of his family having seen him yet. So, do you understand what I mean when I say he's in a rather delicate state right now?"

Castiel gulped. "Yes."

"Just so we're clear."

He nodded.

She stood shortly after, gesturing him to follow. Not even acknowledging the receptionist as she punched them through to the ward, she led Castiel confidently past the nurses and other doctors, no one even batting an eye at the teenager trailing her. It wasn't until she reached room 818 that she stopped. Pulling out her keycard, she swiped it through, motioning for Castiel to wait while she paused in the doorway, the door closing behind her.

"Dean," Castiel heard her say. "There's someone here to see you. Is it alright if I let them in?" Pause. Maybe Dean was replying. Castiel couldn't make it out. "No, it's not a family member." Shortly after, she came back out, nodding that it was okay for Castiel to take her place.

Breathing deeply, Castiel pushed his way inside.

What he saw nearly left him standing shocked in the doorway.

Yes, it was Dean Winchester. But it also wasn't. Not in the way Castiel had grown accustomed to him. He was slumped back against the headboard of his hospital bed, clad in a thin, spotted grown. His hair was untamed, his normally intimidating figure seeming small amongst the sheets and pillows. Around his wrists, thick bandages were wrapped, a blue bracelet on the right one as well. He wasn't hooked up to any monitors, which spoke well, but he was pale, and weighted, and the sight nearly ran Castiel through.

Because no one should look like that.

And as Castiel closed the door behind him, those green eyes flicked up, the space between them thick as they both processed the situation.

As Dean realized who he was, and what his presence there implied.

He broke down then. Castiel would probably remember it for the rest of his life, what he saw in those moments – be it for better or worse. It was sheer and uncensored misery. Shame too, and a kind of helpless humiliation. Dean's eyes fell away, looking to the side as they filled with tears. His mouth contorted into a sob that he tried to hold back, but couldn't, and his whole chest ruptured and shook. His hands gripped at the sheets till his knuckles turned white, and he gasped out like someone who'd been crying on and off all day. Like it was coming as a force of habit he couldn't control.

Those lips quivered, and tears fell – and Castiel tried to figure out what he should do.

"Dean…" the name left him quietly, his own throat lurching with dryness at the sight of Dean's despair. He made his way across the room, to the side of the bed, but still Dean wouldn't look at him. He hunched forward, shoulders shaking as he visibly tried to hold back the sob ripping through him, but it was too much. Too powerful. He gasped out, more of those salty tears dripping down his cheeks.

"Dean, it's okay," Castiel reasoned softly, hesitating only momentarily before he reached out and laid a hand on his arm. "It's going to be okay." He didn't know what else to say, or if he should even say anything at all.

But then Dean pulled his hand up to his mouth, as if to vainly cover his exposed emotions. It failed, they kept bursting through. Until finally he gave in, still shaking, still crying, as he glanced up at Castiel. As he took the comfort that was being offered there.

Sitting down on the side of the mattress, Castiel reached out and wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders. Holding him tight, he felt the dam collapse further, sobs wracking Dean's whole body as he reached out and took hold of Castiel's shirt. He buried his face in his chest, his hands shaking as he grasped at the fabric between his fingers. As he ducked down into the protective halo Castiel was trying his best to pull around him. Like a security blanket, maybe, or a mote.

He laid his cheek against Dean's hair, he rocked him, and he told him over and over again that it was going to be alright. He didn't know how or when, but it would be. That didn't mean things would get better, not right away, but things would be okay. They  _could_  be okay – they just had to find the right path in the shade.

They sat there a long time, saying nothing. Not needing to.

It wasn't until Dean had fallen silent, only the echoing shakes remaining up and down his skin, that he finally pushed away. He shied away from Castiel slowly, as if his shame was creeping back in. He turned away, Castiel feeling helpless once more as his arms fell away. As he waited – because only Dean could know when he was ready.

"I thought," Dean's voice was choked, rough, and congested. "I thought you'd h-hate me."

"I've never hated you, Dean," Castiel assured quietly, trying to keep his voice smooth. "It's the ones who… who hurt others that are in the most pain."

His verdict caused a new wave of tears to leaked down those freckled cheeks, the heel of Dean's hand coming up to wipe them away.

"I'm sorry," he croaked out. "I'm really sorry."

"I know," Castiel placed his hand on his back, stroking gently. "I forgive you."

"How do you not hate me?" he glanced brokenly over at him. "I know I do…"

"You shouldn't," Castiel said almost firmly. "There's nothing you've done that can't be pardoned, and nothing you are that's wrong. I know that… that who you are scares you, and that you're worried about losing the people you love, but if they can't accept you for who you are, then they don't love you as much as they should." A harsh truth, but a truth nonetheless.

Dean gulped. "Then no one does," his fingers flexed into the sheets again.

"That's not true," Castiel assured. "There are people all around you that have the potential to love you, that could if you'd just give them the chance. It's hard, I know, and it terrified me too. And it… it wasn't easy, but, Dean, you can't just give up."

More and more tears.

"Please, you can't," Castiel felt his own eyes well up. "You're so much more than what a few ignorant idiots think, or what you father thinks. They don't define you; only you can do that. Don't let this be what defines you, Dean. Don't stop here."

"I don't know what to do," he admitted weakly.

"Then we'll figure it out together," Castiel reached out and placed his other hand over Dean's. "You need someone to talk to, you can talk to me. You need a friend, then I'll be there. You need somewhere to go – somewhere safe – then I'll give you my address." He smiled weakly, thankful when Dean met his gaze.

Thankful when he nodded. "Thank you."

Castiel squeezed his hand, not objecting when Dean linked their fingers together, or when he leaned his head on Castiel's shoulder.

He stayed with him the whole time.

He stayed.

The days that followed weren't easy, but Castiel came to see Dean every day. When none of his "friends" were there, Castiel was. And when his parents had the pastor come in to talk, Dean asked that Castiel be there, which was the first time he met John and Mary. Mary, who seemed just as confused as her son, and John who was angry – angry and blinded.

Dean didn't respond to the pastor, he ignored him the whole time. Didn't say a word. And when John got frustrated with his attitude afterward, Castiel called the nurse to get him to leave. Mary stayed a few more minutes, torn on what to do, but eventually following John.

Castiel stayed overnight then, the two of them watching Doctor Sexy well after midnight with unflavored hospital popcorn that got sent flying at the small television more often than it ended up in their stomachs.

When he went home that morning before school, Castiel's mother, who he'd updated on the situation, asked how things were. He replied that it wasn't good, so she took it upon herself to start cleaning out their spare room. Which was a fair decision on her part, because a day after he left the hospital, Dean called Castiel and explained that if he didn't agree to go to church counseling as his father was demanding, he was going to be kicked out of the house.

Five days after Castiel first went to visit him, Dean moved into the room beside his own. Naomi, Castiel's mother, was a single mom, but Dean promised to get a job, which she tried to say wasn't necessary, but that he did anyway. Rumors ran around the school when he finally went back, and Castiel didn't push him when he ignored the fact that they were friends. Dean ignored all his friends however, so Castiel didn't feel particularly singled out.

Besides, him and Dean got on just fine outside school, Castiel learning that Dean was a much more sensitive, compassionate young man than he'd ever let anyone in on. He liked musicals and poetry, and was much more studious than Castiel ever would have fathomed.

It took two weeks before Dean was okay with Castiel having his own friends over, a meeting he had to prepare them for. Because they'd been rather ruffled at Castiel's silent distance, but quickly straightened up upon learning the truth. They didn't mention it to Dean, what had happened, but they were friendly, and soon all awkwardness was dispersed.

Dean hesitantly sat with them at lunch after that, walking an odd line between popular jock and blossoming outcast. Castiel's own image couldn't be overcome however, and soon new rumors were flooding the hallways. Things about why Dean had tried to kill himself, and the fact that him and Castiel Novak spent an awful lot of time together. They were just friends, but that hardly stopped the gossip.

Sam, Dean's younger brother, started to sneak over to see him. He pretended to be in a study group, but really spent a few hours every few days with his brother, who was honest about what had happened and relieved when Sam hadn't cared. His parents' prejudices weren't shared, it was appear.

Summer came, Dean's mother eventually insisting that he come home. John wasn't pleased about it, and made that perfectly clear, but Dean refused to be shamed. He went home, and a rift spilled out between his parents. It started slow, but by the end of the next year, they were separated, Mary far more educated on the situation once Naomi had gotten a hold of her.

Castiel and Dean were best friends, and though kids at school soon forgot the horror of Dean trying to take his own life, they didn't let their biting words get to them. They graduated together, and even went to the same college, which pleased both parties.

Mary and John got divorced, and it was messy, and Dean blamed himself, but Castiel held him up. Just as Dean eventually did for him when Naomi was diagnosed with breast cancer. She made it, but that didn't make the late nights spent at the hospital any easier. Castiel was thankful for the late-night junk food runs Dean did then, and even more thankful when he brought coffee in the morning.

Their junior year away from home, they decided to get an apartment together. Roommates, two of the lucky ones that could live together without their friendship suffering for it. Rather, it thrived, a development that didn't go unnoticed by either party. But life was hectic, and they were busy, so things that maybe shouldn't have been got pushed to the back burner. Castiel studied abroad in England for a year, which did put some distance between them, but it was manageable.

When they graduated, again together, they went out with Naomi, Mary, and Sam to celebrate, deciding to forgo any serious partying to simply go home and watch Doctor Sexy reruns in their underwear. A tradition that stemmed back from that single night in the hospital, though the "only underwear" thing was a newer development.

Maybe they were both a little drunk, and maybe a little too comfortable. Neither were virgins, but that was the first night they slept together, quite unexpectedly. Wrapped up in one another on their ratty couch, they rocked together, best friends even after they woke up in a tangled heap.

Dean asked Castiel to marry him that same morning, even though he didn't have a ring and it was unplanned. They'd never even been on an official date, but Castiel said yes. Because all those late night movie marathons and study sessions had to count for something.

They fell in love. And it wasn't perfect, but it was alright.

It was enough.


	7. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finally gets up the courage to ask out the cute boy who works the reference desk in the library. When he's rejected however, he assumes it's because Castiel simply isn't interested. Until they find each other in the middle of a blizzard, Dean learning that maybe Castiel's rejection stems from something entirely different than disinterest.
> 
> Every year, thousands of homeless college students go unnoticed. They slip through the cracks, where there's no one to catch them when they fall.
> 
> Rated T for adult themes.

Dean supposed he was kind of cute.

Okay, maybe that was a lie. He was  _really_  cute. With the disheveled, dark brown hair, and those big, big blue eyes. There were slight bags beneath them, like the skin hooked up over his high cheeks bones, and his lips pulled into these delicate, pretty points. Yes, Dean had spent a considerable time watching the other boy, taking in such features. He spent a considerable amount of time at the library anyway, being an English major, and  _Castiel_  spent a considerable amount of time behind the reference desk, where he worked. It seemed only natural that they run into each rather often, or so Dean had reasoned upon realizing he saw Castiel almost every day.

He didn't come to the library  _just_  to see those blue eyes however. That'd be ridiculous.

Biting his lip, he watched as Castiel ran someone through the computer, no doubt looking something up, his mouth muttering out an explanation as the clueless student asked more questions.

Dean sighed.

"Why don't you just go talk to him?" Charlie muttered in his ear, Dean starting before turning to look at her. She was standing behind him, arms crossed over her chest as she cocked a knowing eyebrow.

"Yeah, okay," Dean frowned, not appreciative of his friend's suggestion. Charlie worked at the library too, at the front desk, and sometimes joined Dean after her shift ended, the two of them studying some before heading back to their respective dorms.

"I'm serious," she persisted, flopping down in the chair beside him. "What's the worst that could happen? All he can do is say 'no.'"

"That is the worst that could happen," Dean grumbled out, looking down at his textbook as his teeth ground together. The idea of talking to Castiel, or maybe even asking him out, not only put his heart a-flutter, but sent a kind of hesitant fear down through him. He didn't want to be rejected, and would take silent watching over that any day.

"So you're just going to stalk him for the rest of however long you're both going here?" Charlie sighed. "Wow, what a trade-off."

"I don't even know if he likes guys, okay?!" Dean hissed rather violently. "I don't know anything about him, actually." This realization was a rather glum one – an inevitability of staying distant.

"Well…" Charlie put her finger to her cheek thoughtfully. "I don't know much about him either, to be honest. But… he's kind of a weird guy, actually." Dean's brows furrowed curiously. "I mean, he's pretty quiet most of the time, keeps to himself. And he has this weird habit of bringing two backpacks with him to work." Her head fell to the side thoughtfully. "They're always full, but I'm not sure what he keeps in them. Maybe he's a drug dealer…"

"Shut up, Charlie," Dean huffed, looking back down at his book again.

"I'm serious!" she leaned forward, smiling. "They're so full, sometimes I think the zippers are gonna bust open. Like he's got his whole life packed up inside them or something."

"Maybe he's just got a lot of books for his classes," Dean growled out, growing rather tired of her pestering.

"Maybe…" she agreed, eyes narrowing, "or its  _drugs_."

"Really?!" Dean slammed his book closed. "You're ridiculous."

"Druuuuggggssss!" she hissed as Dean rose to his feet, ready to return his book to the reference desk. He'd been ready for a while, but the longer he'd kept it, the longer he got to sit at the back table and watch Castiel. As it was, the line in front of the reference section had finally depleted, Dean always feeling more comfortable interacting with Castiel when no one was waiting. Even if all he did was return the book, say "thanks," and walk away again.

"Hey!" Charlie called to him as he headed off, Dean looking over his shoulder. All she did was waggle her eyebrows suggestively however, to which he rolled his eyes.

About halfway across the library, Castiel finally noticed him approaching, Dean doing his best not to blush as those blue eyes followed him – stayed focused till he was standing before the desk, his hand rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

Castiel was looking up at him from his seat, initially saying nothing.

Until he  _did_. "Dean?" he questioned, the sound of his name inside that voice causing the one in question to jump.

"What?" he asked out stupidly.

"Are you returning that?" Castiel gestured to the book in his hand, the one he'd come up and failed to give back.

"Oh, yeah, right," Dean cleared his throat, dropping it onto the desk with a louder thump than he'd intended. "Sorry…" Was that a small smile on Cas's lips, as his long fingers slid the volume the rest of the way over?

"It's okay," Castiel said quietly, going about scanning the book back into the system. His gaze kept flicking up however, a fact Dean didn't fail to notice. Like he was waiting for something, or expecting something. But he already had the book.

Charlie's advice filtered through Dean's head.

"So," Dean gulped, not sure at all what he was doing. "Crazy… crazy weather we've been having." Really? The weather? That was the best he could come up with? No one would believe he'd been the popular jock type in high school – ladies fawning all over him – when considering he couldn't even start a proper conversation with one boy!

"It's cold," Castiel stated, finished scanning the book back before turning his attention fully to Dean. "I'm not a huge fan of the snow." They were going to college in Michigan however, so it could hardly be helped.

"Yeah, me neither," Dean agreed, his hands slipping into his pockets as he stared down at his feet.

He didn't see the way Castiel bit the inside of his lip, or how his eyes narrowed critically.

"I, uh, I like your shirt," Castiel said a moment later, his deep voice softer than before, and drawing Dean's eyes back his way.

"Uh, yeah, The Police," Dean pulled down on the hem of the it, as if to further reveal the graphic. "They're pretty great…"

"Yeah…"

Pause.

"Well, thanks for the book," Dean cleared his throat, taking a deep breath. "I'll, uh, I'll see ya later." He waved shortly, taking a step back. Castiel nodded, Dean not waiting long enough to see if he waved too before turning to run away.

It was the exasperated, defeated look on Charlie's face across the room that caused him to pause again. To take a deep breath, straighten, and glance over his shoulder – just barely. Castiel was still watching him, sitting somewhat hunched in his seat.

"Uh, hey," Dean plucked up his courage, turning back to the desk. "I was wondering if- if you'd be interested in, uh," Castiel's lips had parted some, his big blue eyes wide, "want to, maybe, I dunno, go out with me sometime? Like- like dinner or-or a movie… or something." Dean knew his cheeks were red, his neck too, and he wanted, more than anything, to hide under the nearest table and never come out.

"I…" Castiel blinked, clearly taken aback. "I…"

Dean raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"I… can't," Castiel finally choked out, his breath trembling in his chest. "I'm sorry." He didn't want to reject Dean, really. Dean, who was so pretty with his freckles and the reading glasses he sometimes wore. And those green eyes. And who was really smart and nice and looked totally devastated.

Even if he was trying to hide it.

"Oh… that's fine," Dean exhaled deeply, as if the breath had been knocked out of him. "Don't be sorry." He laughed awkwardly, Castiel's lips pursing painfully. "It's fine, cool, really." Dean forced a smile onto his face. "I, uh, wasn't expecting you to say yes anyway, so…" He backed up a step. "Yeah, I'll, well, I'm just," he gestured back to his table, "gonna go then…"

Castiel wanted so badly to take it back, to say yes and pull those green eyes back his way. But he just… couldn't. He was too ashamed, and embarrassed, and knew he was in no position to go on a date. With anyone. Really, when he'd realized what Dean was doing, he'd wanted more than anything for him to stop. To wait.

But wait for what? Castiel's situation wasn't going to be changing any time soon.

Instead, he watched from his desk, almost wanting to cry as Dean packed up his stuff, spoke shortly to Charlie, and practically ran out of the library. Charlie went with him, Castiel's whole body sinking as he stared blankly at his computer screen. As he took a shaking breath and tried to reason that he'd said the right thing. After all, Dean wouldn't want to go out with him if he knew the truth. No one would.

Which was what he kept telling himself all the afternoon and evening, feeling empty and depressed as he silently checked people in and out, his voice flat when answering questions. It wasn't until ten o'clock started to role around that he noticed the regular flow of students had died down considerably, hardly anyone in the library. Which was rare for a Wednesday night.

"I hear it's getting pretty bad out," Meg's voice drew Castiel's attention, his head whipping around to find her leaning against the desk beside him. She was staring at her nails, apparently having abandoned her post in the stacks.

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked, clueless.

"The storm," she nodded to the dark windows, where no amount of foul weather would be visible in the dark. "They say it's going to be one of the worst in fifty years. Temps in the teens, forty to sixty mile-an-hour winds. And they're saying between two and four feet of snow."

Castiel didn't reply, instead taking a deep breath. Well, he supposed it could snow all it wanted. He'd just stay inside.

"Hey, you two," Naomi, the head librarian, had rounded the corner to speak to them. "The university is shutting down. Get your stuff together and go home before it gets any worse out." A few of the other student employees were already bundled up and heading out, Castiel blinking in momentary confusion at her words. Meg had heeded the message, going to grab her things from where she kept them behind the reference desk. It was only Castiel who remained frozen, mouth hanging open.

"Hey, let's get out of here," Meg nudged him out of his stupor, poking him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, right," Castiel replied, nodding stupidly. Quite outside himself, he shut down his computer before standing and slipping on his worn, jean jacket. It was somewhat insulated, but hardly counted as a winter coat. Lastly, he pulled on his hat and gloves, strapping one of his packs to his back before slipping the large shoulder bag over his left.

Feet heavy in his clunky winter boots, he trailed Meg and Naomi lastly out of the library, the winds whipping down across campus causing them all to squint as the doors were locked. Exchanging short farewells, bundled up in their coats and scarves, the students and librarians quickly cleared the scene, Castiel the only one taking his time walking along the building, flinching against the pelleting snow.

What was he supposed to do?

_Where was he supposed to go?_

Castiel hadn't imagined that the library would close, that the whole university would shut down. The library never closed – it was supposed to be open twenty-four seven. The only place he knew he could always go and stay, not having to worry about getting kicked out. But now he was standing outside, barely in the shelter of the building, and beginning to shiver against the storm. He tried to think quickly of a place he could go, anywhere that would be open. But he knew that most of the campus buildings closed after ten, and that all of them would be locked up if the college had shut down.

Peering out across the blustering landscape, he could see the vague glow of lamps, high above his head and fighting as best they could against the dying visibility. No one walked beneath them, no one dared go out in the blizzard. He was utterly alone, only the sound of his ragged breathing inside the whistling of the snow audible.

Already his face was numb, his whole body shaking. It quickly occurred to him that if he didn't find shelter, he was going to freeze. Literally. He didn't have the energy or the clothing to fight the cold, his empty stomach reminding him even more severely. He hadn't eaten since the morning prior, his lack of food making it all that much harder to stand up against the weather.

Pulling his hands up to his face, he breathed out, trying to shield his skin some. His gloves were old, worn, and his fingers were beginning to chill along with his toes. He wondered if maybe there was a McDonalds or something still open, or maybe a Walmart. The buses wouldn't be running however, so he'd have to walk. The nearest ones were at least forty-five minutes by foot, and as he peered again out into the whiteness, he realized he'd never make it.

He was going to die there, beside the library. They'd find his body covered in snow, blue and frostbitten.

Sinking down against the wall, he gulped, knowing there were tears welling up in his eyes despite his cheeks being too numb to really feel them as they fell. Pulling his bag from his back, he placed it between his chest and knees, which he pulled up helplessly. He buried his face there, the chill of the concrete beneath his butt, the building against his back, making him only colder.

His teeth chattered, and the wind howled, and he felt his fingers hurting with the biting cold. Pulling them up behind his bag, he tried to rub them together, but it was doing little inside the gloves. The harsh storm pounded on him, splattering him with snow until he was but a shaking lump of white.

He knew it'd only take hours and he'd be gone entirely.

It wasn't fair. He'd come to college even though everyone had told him he couldn't. He'd fought them every step, paid his tuition out of pocket or with what few scholarships he qualified for. All he'd wanted to do was graduate, to show that he could. That he wasn't worthless and that his dreams of becoming a writer, of publishing just one measly book, weren't ridiculous.

He'd worked so hard…

His nose was freezing as he breathed, his eyelashes heavy with ice as he blinked. As he closed them, if only because it was easier than trying to fight the cold. He tried to think of other things – of his classes and how many great, new people he'd met. People that didn't know the truth. About his job, and how much he loved it. And that it allowed him to see interesting students like Meg and Dean. Dean, who'd asked him out and was so far out of his league. And who he'd had to turn down. Because he couldn't afford to go out, couldn't afford to look nice. He hadn't even been able to afford to go to the laundromat in a week, the only thing hiding it being the showers he took at the rec center.

But his mind was quickly being pulled to other things. To the cold against the exposed skin of his neck, and how his stomach sucked back against his spine, as if cowering. How violently his body shook, and how dry the air was as he breathed.

Until the cold was all there was. All he had left.

"Shit, really?!" Dean muttered, shuddering down into his scarf and heavy coat. "Even the library is closed?" He knew the storm was bad, but he hadn't considered that the whole university would shut down. He'd just wanted to get his phone, which he'd left in his mad dash to get away from Castiel. He'd waited until he'd been absolutely sure his shift had to be over, but now he wished he'd just waited till morning. Granted, he'd grown up in northern Michigan, so the storm didn't particularly bother him, but still. He'd put on his snow pants and everything to make the trek, and now he had to go all the way back. Well, at least his dorm was only some ten minutes away.

Turning, he was about to head back out into the blizzard, head bowed against the wind, when something caught his eye. He wasn't quite sure what it was initially, sitting up against the side of the building. But he knew it wasn't a bush – too small, for one, and for two, he had yet to discover any foliage that could both grow on concrete and in the middle of winter. Squinting, he swore he saw it move beneath the thin layer of white. Yeah, it was definitely moving.

Or perhaps trembling was a better word.

"Hey!" Dean called, approaching quickly as he heart surged forward in concern. "You shouldn't be out here. It's fuckin' cold!" Common sense, really, but he tried not to judge.

Crouching down beside the shivering person, he reached out, laying a hand on their knee in an attempt to get their attention. Still nothing however, so he shook them, disturbed by how long it took before that head slowly rose to look at him. Pale, frozen skin, white lashes, quivering lips.

And blue, blue eyes.

"Castiel?"

"D-Dean?" his barely there voice managed to croak out.

"What the hell are you sitting out here for?!" Dean was almost angry. Almost. "There's a friggen' blizzard happening, in case you failed to notice." His reprimand got him nowhere. "Are you waiting for someone?"

Still nothing, those lips quivering even more as his blue eyes closed. As he sank back against the building.

"Hey," Dean's whole body lurched, his voice quieter as his eyes widened in panic. "Cas, c'mon, what… what are you doing?"

But there was nothing.

For a moment, Dean didn't know what to do. He looked around, stupidly thinking that he should get someone to help. He didn't have his phone, after all, and really thought maybe 911 was necessary. Yet even as he thought as much, he realized that there was no way an ambulance would be able to get there. Not in weather like this, not in a timely manner.

He was on his own.

Looking back down at Castiel, he took note of his thin jacket, and his heavy bags. Bloated and round, not like they were stuffed with books, but with clothes or something equally plush.

Dean pursed his lips.

"Alright, c'mon," he muttered, resolved. Taking Castiel's bag out of his unresponsive hands, he slung it around onto his own back before placing the other in Cas's lap. Reaching up under the folded body, he prepared himself to lift, both surprised and disturbed by how light Castiel was. Castiel, who was in no way a small person and who Dean had noticed tended to wear clothes a little too big for him.

Gulping, he pulled Castiel's body as close to his own as he could before turning to face the storm. He knew he had limited time, and that heading out of the shelter of the library would be even worse for the boy in his arms. Still, he could do it. He had to.

Bracing himself, he hunkered out into the snow, eyes narrowed as he maneuvered his way down the drifting sidewalks. He was half jogging, careful not to slip, but aware that he had to hurry. With Castiel in his arms, it was much easier to ignore the snow and the cold, his thoughts set determinedly on reaching his dorm. On getting there before it was too late.

If it wasn't already.

Much like the blowing snow, his hike back to his dorm was a blurred mess of heavy breathing and pumping legs. Resituating Castiel so he was holding him up across his shoulder with one arm, he reached into the pocket of his snow pants and pulled out his ID. Slipping in through the scanner attached to the back door, he reached out and fought his way inside against the drift, thinking that every part of getting in was going to be made as difficult as possible.

He stumbled in eventually however, spitting snow from his mouth and wiping it from his eyes before he re-hefted Castiel against him – one hand around his back, the other held up under his butt. The stairs were just to his left, empty and quiet as Dean headed up them. Thankful he was only on the next floor up, he bit his lip as he headed down the hall, unsure what he'd do if he encountered anyone, but uncertain whether it was good that he hadn't.

Well, once he got Castiel inside his room, he'd survey what to do next.

Still holding his keycard, he balanced Castiel somewhat precariously as he shoved his way into his single room (got it through scholarship). Finally fumbling inside, he stumbled over to his couch before placing Castiel there, huffing some before dropping the loaded backpack to the floor and yanking off his hat.

He crouched down in front of Castiel.

"Hey, wake up," he tried to encourage, holding Castiel's jaw in his hands as he pushed his hat back on his head. His pale, clammy skin was even more obvious in the clear lighting, Dean only quickly considering the situation before taking action.

"Alright, Cas," he said in determination. "Don't hate me for what I'm doing, okay?" He thought maybe he saw those lashes twitch, but didn't take the time to figure out for certain. Instead, he yanked Castiel's shoulder bag off before pulling apart the buttons of his coat, quickly shucking the wet, snow-covered article from his shoulders before dropping it to the floor. His gloves had come off with it, Castiel's whole body flinching away at the lack of covering.

Finally, his eyes fluttered open.

"It's okay," Dean assured, a shiver running up the entirety of Castiel's frozen frame before the trembling became constant once again. "You're gonna be okay." Dean wasn't sure if he was saying it more for his own sake or Castiel's, his desperation the only thing keeping him on track. He yanked Castiel's boots from his feet, disturbed further by how damp his socks were. Those came off too, his toes a purple-red that nearly made Dean nauseous.

"Dean?" Castiel's voice cracked out weakly, Dean pausing to flick his attention up. To catch himself in those blue eyes. "I'm s-s-s-sorry."

"Don't even think about it," Dean assured, smiling weakly. He could tell Castiel wanted to say more, but was trembling too violently to do so. Which drew Dean back to his task. Throwing up an apologetic look, he didn't hesitate in popping the button to Castiel's jeans before pulling the stiff, snow-coated articles down his legs. He could feel how cold to the touch Castiel's skin was as he did, and it spurred him to only go faster.

Lastly, he yanked up Castiel's t-shirt, the sight of his clammy, quivering skin almost too much.

Lifting him easily, he took Castiel to the bed in the corner, laying him down on the mattress before pulling the covers over him. He knew it wouldn't be enough, quickly heading over to his closet before pulling down the quilt his mother had made from the top shelf. It was heavy and tended to make Dean too hot, hence he didn't use it very often, but it'd be perfect in that moment. Laying it too over Castiel's chattering body, he then went about removing his own jacket and snow pants, lifting his sweatshirt and t-shirt away before hopping out of his boots, his socks going with them. Dropping his jeans lastly, he threw one more apologetic look at the boy he hardly knew, who was watching him, before lifting the covers and sliding in beside him. Making sure they were fully swathed, he wrapped his arms around Castiel and pulled him up again his chest, a shiver running down his own body in the same moment.

"You're like a fucking ice cube," he muttered, his hands running up and down Castiel's back as he pulled his legs around his lower half. "What the hell were you doing just sitting out there?"

He didn't get a response however, Castiel far too preoccupied with trying to get warm to answer. Or maybe he was just too ashamed. Dean supposed it could be either way, since he'd somewhat come to understand what was going on. He didn't push the subject however, instead remaining focused on warming the unfortunate victim of the storm.

Which was why he never let up on his hold, even as Castiel shivered and shivered. He held him close, and he covered him as best he could. He waited, and worried, and didn't even consider letting go until well after the quaking became a mere tremble, one that died in and out occasionally. Until his skin wasn't as cold as ice, and his breathing had evened out to a regular pace.

It was only when he recalled that food and water helped too, and that Castiel was so thin, that he pulled away. He slid back out of the blankets, tucking them snuggly around the other boy before crouching down beside the bed.

For a moment, he did nothing, those blue eyes blinking out at him for only a moment before they looked away. They flicked down to the bed, Castiel pulling the blue and yellow quilt further up to his nose.

"Cas…" Dean gulped, his tone soft. "Are you… are you homeless?"

He got his answer in the way Castiel's eyes squeezed shut, his breath hiccupping as tears leaked down across his cheeks. As if the word itself was enough to kick him down, cripple him into quiet cries against the mattress. He shook again, but this time it wasn't because of the cold. Dean gaped, not knowing what to say, his own chest tightening as his throat went dry.

He'd heard about homeless students – that they flew under the radar, sleeping at friend's dorms or in lobbies. That they had to remain underground because if they were discovered, they might not be able to attend. It was in one of his social classes that he'd even learned such people existed, but he'd never encountered one. Hadn't even thought to consider that people in such dire straits would be left out to fend for themselves in situations like this. In storms that could kill them.

He understood now why Castiel's bags were so full, and why he was so thin.

"Cas," Dean whispered, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder. "When was the last time you ate something?" Because he was clearly malnourished, which wasn't helping him recover any from the cold. "C'mon, just tell me," Dean encouraged quietly, leaning closer to him. "Let me help you."

Castiel's lashes lifted slightly, the blue clouding with tears. "Yesterday m-morning," he stuttered out, his face visibly cringing. As if he were admitting to some kind of crime or bad behavior.

Dean pursed his lips, it taking all his self-control to remain in check.

"You need to eat something," he decided firmly before pushing himself to his feet. Walking across his dorm to his cabinet, he pulled it open before finding a package of microwave macaroni and a bagel from his morning breakfast. Filling the first with water before shoving it in the microwave, he stuffed the second down the toaster (the toaster he wasn't supposed to have), and turned back to the bed. He waited in silence for both foods to finish, contemplating what he was supposed to do. No answer came to him however, and after spreading butter on the bagel halves (the only spread he had in his fridge) and stirring the pasta, he made his way back over to the bed, sitting down on the edge as Castiel slowly sat up under the covers.

He didn't look at Dean, couldn't, and took the food offered with his eyes turned toward the quilt. Part of it fell from his shoulder as he did, Dean taking it upon himself to reach out and re-wrap him. They sat in silence for a moment – that they were in their underwear hardly seeming relevant. Until Castiel had finished one half of the bagel, his hand falling to his covered leg as he let out a shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry, Dean," he muttered, voice heavy. "For this. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Dean leaned back beside him, eyebrows pulled thoughtfully together. "I'm just glad I found you before…" The implication was obvious, a few more tears dropping down Castiel's cheeks. "Do you always go this long without eating?"

"N-no," he shook his head. "I.. I don't get paid till tomorrow. And most of my last paycheck went to tuition last week." He gulped, breath becoming shaky again. "I know there's a student pantry here, but you can only go once every two weeks, and I don't have anywhere to keep any food anyway. Once tomorrow got here, I would have been fine, I would have- I would have-" He was getting upset again, Dean reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder. "That's why I re-rejected you earlier," he managed to whimper out, his hands trembling so severely that he had to set the food in his lap. "I haven't been able to wash any of my c-clothes in a week and I don't have any money to pay for anything and I-I-"

"Hey, it's alright, Cas, it's okay," Dean rubbed his shoulder gently, smiling softly. "I think I would have rather you said no because you didn't like me, but I'll take it." Because almost anything would have been better than this.

"I do like you," Castiel assured brokenly. "And I'm  _sorry_."

"You don't need to apologize, Cas," Dean repeated, scooting closer to him before wrapping him up in his arms again. "This isn't your fault." He laid his chin as Castiel's head, far more comforted by the fact that he was finally warm, though the locks were a little damp from the melted snow. "Cas, why… why are you like this? Why don't you have a dorm or somewhere to stay?"

It was personal, sure, but they were sitting in their underwear wrapped up in Dean's mom's quilt. So, what the hell.

"I can't afford the tuition if housing is included," he explained quietly. "And my parents can't afford to pay. The law requires that they do, but they can't. They… they never wanted me to go to college anyway, but…"

"How long have you been living like this?" Dean pulled back away from him again, finally managing to draw those blue eyes up to his own.

"Almost two years…"

Dean gaped, his whole body feeling as though it were weighed down by rocks. Or lead.

"Jesus, Cas," he awed. "Why didn't you stay with anyone? Why didn't you say something?"

"I can't do that…" he murmured, sounding quite as though it was an issue of being a bother, or a burden.

"Yes you fucking can!" Dean said rather harshly, Castiel shying away from him. "You almost  _died_ , do you realize that?!" Yes, he was somewhat angry, but also frustrated. Not so much at Cas – though there was that – but at the situation itself. "You should have pulled one of your coworkers aside and told them, you should have gone home with someone! Not just… stood out in the cold! What the hell?!"

Castiel didn't know what to say.

"You didn't even have to tell them the whole truth!" He could have made something up – that his bus wasn't running and he couldn't get home. Something! "Someone would have helped you if you'd just asked!"

"I can't always ask for help!" Castiel finally rebuked, gulping back against his hurt and guilt over what Dean was saying. "You don't know what it's like! To beg and- and use people! I can't do that!"

"You'd rather freeze to death?!"

"I didn't mean for this to happen!"

Silence.

Dean sighed, looking away. He considered that maybe he'd let his temper get the better of him, but this whole thing was just so stupid. It shouldn't even be allowed, that people slipped through the cracks like this. There should be someone there to catch them, someone to do something.

Castiel's lip was trembling, but his jaw held resolutely. Which softened Dean's resolve some.

"Cas, what if I hadn't been there? What if no one found you till morning?" His shoulders slumped. "You be  _dead_. Don't you get that?"

Castiel looked down at the quilt again, eyes blinking rapidly. "I didn't know where to go…" Or what to do, or think. It wasn't as easy as Dean wanted it to be – it was never that easy.

"Well, now you do," Dean determined stiffly. "You're not homeless anymore." Reaching out, Dean took Cas's hand in both his own, holding the only moderately warm fingers while his thumbs slowly began to message his skin.

"Wh-what?" Castiel stammered, clearly shocked – if his wide eyes had anything to say.

"This is a single room, but it's not that much smaller than the double ones," Dean shrugged. "I never minded having a roommate."

"Dean, I can't-"

"Yes you can," Dean nodded, smiling as he held Castiel's hand tighter. "I'm not paying for this anyway – it's a scholarship room – and I'm not giving you any choice. If you don't move in here, I'm going to hunt you down every day after you get out of work and carry you back. Trust me, you're not that heavy."

Castiel gulped, once again assaulted by emotion he couldn't control. Because he was so cold, and weak, and just  _tired_. Tired of having nowhere to go, of wondering where he'd eat next and at what cost. Whether someone would notice why he had his bags with him all the time, or why his clothes weren't clean. It was so exhausting, and the weight was so heavy.

"I know we don't know each other that well, or at all," Dean chuckled shortly, "but I don't care. I just want you safe, Cas. Because no one should have to live like this."

Those green eyes blinked, concern and compassion apparent in their depths. Not pity, or ridicule, or even sympathy. Just understanding, and a certain, huge amount of kindness that Castiel had never encountered before.

"Dean…" he couldn't help that more tears were falling – that he seemed to have an endless supply. They streaked down his cheeks in salty lines, Dean letting go of his hand to reach up and wipe them away. Castiel immediately took hold of them again however, mouth quivering as he held them tightly in his own.

As Dean leaned forward and, eyes closed, kissed the tears away instead. Lightly, with butterfly touches. Soft and short, but so meaningful and important. More important than almost anything Castiel had experienced in a long, long time.

Because it'd been nearly two years since he'd been close to anyone. Since he'd allowed himself to be.

"Thank you," he managed to whisper out, closing his own eyes as Dean's nose brushed his. "Thank you, Dean."

He took a silently gasping breath as their lips pressed softly together, one that became a sigh as he gave in. As he stopped fighting and decided that, perhaps, it was okay this way. That letting Dean help him might not be such a bad idea.

That, maybe, it wouldn't be so bad to have someone to call home.


	8. Hey, It's Obvious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Best friends Dean and Cas drink a little too much and accidentally end up in bed together.
> 
> Rated T.

Neither of them had really expected to wake up, naked, wrapped in each other's arms, to say the least. But that was apparently what the morning had in store for them, whether they wanted it or not.

"Dean," Cas was blinking, his head throbbing some as a result of their late night drinking previously. "Dean, wake up." He tapped the other man on the back, who was sprawled out on top of him, Cas's legs still swathed around his lower half.

"Hm, what?" Dean started, head leaning up slightly as he scrunched his nose against the daylight streaming in through their apartment windows. "Wha-time-is-it?"

"I don't know," Cas had closed his eyes again, yawning as he laid his arm across his eyes, shielding them as best he could. "You need to get off me though, my leg's asleep." A command that, really, wasn't so unheard of between them. Just, usually, they still had clothes on, and weren't sticky from whatever "activities" they'd partaken in prior.

Because – despite having been friends since high school – Dean and Cas had never slept together before. They were best friends, when it came down to it, and whether there'd been attraction between them or not, it'd always been pushed to the wayside by other things. By Dean's parents' divorce, or Cas's mom getting cancer, and then recovering from said cancer. Or Cas going to England for study abroad. Sure they were roommates, but college life had always been hectic, demanding of things they'd always claimed were more important.

Then they'd graduated. They'd gone out to dinner with their families, and then come back home having drunk a little too much. They'd decided to watch some Doctor Sexy, which had apparently led to Dean with his head in Cas's lap, and Cas with his hands in Dean's hair. And then kissing, and making out, and stripping, and, well, words weren't really necessary for the rest.

"Oh…" Dean said groggily, finally managing to glance down at Cas's bare chest beneath him. His eyes then travelled lower as he pushed himself up, that green narrowing near their middles before he squinted back up at Cas. "We're naked."

"Yes, thank you," Cas said rather curtly, resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Now, will you please get up? I can't feel my leg."

"Yeah, sure." It was Dean's turn to yawn as he slowly pushed himself into sitting. He didn't bother hiding how his eyes travelled down between his best friend's legs, or how a somewhat approving smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

Cas tightened his jaw. "Really?"

Dean shrugged, smile blooming further as he sank back on his heels.

Head shaking, Cas pulled his legs from around Dean, scowling as he stretched out the one still not quite responding. He was aware that Dean was still ogling him, and tried to ignore the warmth in his chest that didn't want to object to it. They were supposed to be  _friends_ , after all.

Unfolding his own body, Dean leaned back in the couch, taking a deep breath before he cleared his throat.

"Hey, Cas," his voice was suggestive – in that dude-bro way Dean was prone too, and Cas could already feel his sigh coming on.

"What?"

"Nice penis."

"You're an infant." Finally regaining feeling in his leg, Cas pushed himself into standing, shaking out his foot as he stumbled away from the couch. The bathroom was his destination.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said again, Cas pausing to turn his head over his shoulder, eyebrows raised questioningly. "Nice ass."

He did roll his eyes then, only a short scoff of a laugh leaving his throat as he set himself forward once again.

"Hey, Cas."

"Oh my god, what?!" He whipped around fully, hands going to his hips as he took in Dean's crooked smile, the same expression trying to slither its way onto his own face despite how he fought it. He had to stay firm, and disapproving of Dean's behavior.

Dean, who was staring at him through a haze of lazy sunlight, biting his bottom lip only quickly before finally managing to speak again.

"Will you marry me?"

He said it so simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and it took Cas a moment to really realize what the question even was. He blinked, his expression faltering, and considered for a moment whether Dean was even being serious.

But he knew Dean – they'd been best friends the last six years. This wasn't the type of thing Dean would joke about, especially after they'd just drunkenly had sex. For a moment, Cas's stomach burst with anxiety, the weight of the inquiry dropping down on him eons of societal pressure and significance.

But then Dean's smile widened a little more, and his stare met Cas's knowingly.

Because it really  _was_  that obvious.

His own grin returning, Cas pulled his arms up and crossed them over his chest. "Yeah, I guess." It was said with as much exasperation as possible, Cas throwing in a sigh for good measure. He didn't look away from Dean though – Dean, who was on his feet and rounding the coffee table. Who stood before him with that big grin still, and who reached out, held Cas's cheeks gently in his hands, and kissed him.

"I don't have a ring," he admitted quietly as he pulled away – just enough to speak. "I wasn't exactly expecting to do this." Which was reasonable. Sure they'd probably spent more time together since becoming friends than they had with anyone else on the planet, but they'd never actually been on an official date.

"Oh, well, that's the deal breaker," Cas replied, finally allowing a full smile to stretch his lips. "You're never prepared for anything."

"That hurts, Cas," he feigned before indulging another kiss. "I  _can_  give you something though," he rubbed his hips forward into Cas's, "if you'll accept it."

"If I have to," Cas muttered, though he really was more than willing. Always had been.

And would be for the rest of his life.


	9. Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas has found a way to rid Dean of the mark, and nothing is going to stand in his way of doing so. Not possession, not Dean himself, not even death.
> 
> Rated T for adult themes. 
> 
> MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH
> 
> This was actually posted as it's own story, but... I'm never going to finish the rest, so it'll just stay a one-shot. Some of you may have read it already. This was actually inspired by a post I made on tumblr "If I wrote Season 11 of Supernatural..." which is just an outline of what I'd write. So... you can check that out on my blog too if you want /shrug. DemonDogDean on tumblr.

"You get your grace back and you'll be able to save him."

Those were the words that kept repeating themselves over and over again in Cas's head. They'd long since lost the echo of Metatron's voice, become his own as he gripped at the wheel of his Lincoln. He knew what he'd done was wrong – that by letting Metatron go for the information he needed, he'd committed treason against Heaven. But it didn't matter anymore. None of it did.

He knew what he needed to do, and all of what that implied.

As it were, he was driving down through southern California, the answers he'd gotten from Metatron taking him to a place known as Sequoia National Park. The answers he'd wanted he'd gotten in the simple form of a note, one tucked in the glovebox of his car once he'd agreed to Metatron's terms. It'd all been very simple, very human even. Metatron was stronger than Castiel – he wasn't fallen – so initially it'd seemed like a bad idea to release him. But he  _was_  weaker because of his imprisonment, and would likely be injured in a fight.

Not only that, but his reasons for giving up the location of Castiel's grace had seemed convincing, if only due to their vindictive nature. Therefore, he gave Cas the answers he wanted, got away, and Cas went on to fulfill his plans.

Treason, yes, but he didn't regret it. Wouldn't.

Pulling his car into the national park, he was soon hiking his way down the trails, eyes scanning between the giant red trunks of the trees. Occasionally he'd reach out and touch one, using only a small fraction of his borrowed grace to see through the roots. To feel his way beneath the earth toward the pulsating heart that beckoned him onward. Like a compass, it pulled him through, his vessel's heart quickening the closer he got. Because it was there, he could sense it, and the feeling of coming home – of finally finding himself through the rubble – was nearly great enough to send him sprinting.

The trek was long, and it took him deep, deep into the bows of the trees. Beyond the human paths and into places where others might lose themselves. He wouldn't, however. No, it was to this end that he'd  _find_  exactly what he was looking for.

And then he'd go to Dean.

Like a beacon shining up through the shadows, he finally saw it. Saw it rising up out of the foliage as he rounded one of the trees. It was bigger, greater, more towering than the others. Not anything truly out of the ordinary – not to human eyes – but the grace resting there had only been present a few years. Had been hidden inside an already living tree, and so growth had only been somewhat accelerated. But Cas could see it. The blue haze and the warm recognition.

It wasn't all of it, but it was most of it. It was enough.

**oOo**

Crowley knew he was in trouble. From the moment he'd taken that human into his chambers, he'd known it. But it was like he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore. What was the point of it all anyway? He knew such questions, and the depression he was feeling, were directly linked to the blood. That he'd been rattled and wrong since that first dose those Winchesters had injected into him. But he was an addict, and he'd been fighting it too long.

And now everyone was going to know.

"You're pathetic," he could hear her saying from where she was standing at the end of the bed. Her pointed face had that narrowed look to it, that same look she'd always given him no matter what he'd done to be out of line. That look he'd been trying to avoid since he'd made the mistake of welcoming her back into his "good graces." He'd always known she was manipulating him, that he meant nothing to her. That the only reason she was even there was to try and gather power herself.

But it'd been so tempting. Because, above all, at least she'd  _been there_. For a while he'd had Dean, but that hadn't worked out. And now none of them, not Sam, Dean, or Cas, wanted anything to do with him. Even after all he'd done for them (okay, he'd done some bad things too, but why not let bygones be bygones?). He'd been alone, and surrounded by demons who didn't understand.

But then she'd come back, and a small fraction of him had reawakened. The part of him that had once been an abandoned little boy who, no matter how horrible she'd been, had simply wanted his mother.

She'd told him over and over again how proud she was of what he'd done – being King of Hell and all. And most of the advice she'd offered in the court he'd taken, if only to please her. But most of it had done a good job of keeping the demons in line as well, and in getting his respect back. Or so he'd told himself. Really, it'd just been showing everyone how incompetent he was for having to depend on his mother. Just lies – ones he'd happily told himself. And were now unraveling all around him.

"I'm ashamed to be your mother," she spat, Crowley unable to hide the look of shame from where he lay on the mattress – a sweaty, desperate mess with red stains around his lips. "You're supposed to be the king of hell!" she gestured to him sharply, her thin frame covered in a tight, rather un-matronly black dress. "Not some slobbering sycophant, which you might as well be, with the way you're behavin!' No better than your average demon!"

"Thank you, Mother," Crowley managed to rasp out, eyes rolling. "You're words are such a help." He was reaching out for his syringe, hands shaking and pale. But before he managed to get it off the end table, his mother was standing there, taking hold of it as she looked down at him.

"You've lost all respect for yourself," she said tightly, though the gears behind her eyes were churning. "You're barely even a demon anymore."

"Hardly, now give me the blood." He needed it.

"No, I don't think I will," she took a step back, Crowley's eye squinting threateningly. "I can't let this go on any longer. Coverin' for you, explainin' to the court why you're not showin' up. I'm finished."

"Mother, please," Crowley held out his hand. He  _needed that blood_.

"Fergus," she straightened, as if there was something dignified about what she was doing, "think of this as an intervention. I'm giving you a choice now. It's up to you what you want to do after that." He pursed his lips, but listened. "Everyone in Hell can tell somethin' isn't right, so it's time you proved your worth. Not just to them, but to me.

"You do this, Fergus, and I'll never doubt you," she stepped forward again, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I'll stay with you forever, we'll be a family, and you can have all the blood you want." She finally gave him the syringe, her red lips pulling into a smile. "All you have to do is this one," she held up a finger, "tiny thing, and no will ever question  _us_  again."

He didn't believe her, but he wanted to. He really, really wanted to.

"What is it, Mother?"

**oOo**

"Why are we meeting Cas at a place like this?" Dean asked tiredly, his breath heavy as he stood up out of the Impala. Sam was exiting on the other side, casting Dean his usual worried look. Had it not been for the fact that Cas had been the one to call and ask that they come, Sam wasn't sure he would have even gotten Dean out of the bunker. The fact that Cas hadn't explained why he wanted to meet them hadn't helped, but Sam was assuming it had something to do with the Mark.

He was hoping it did, anyway.

"Don't know," Sam replied with a sigh, slamming his door closed before rounding the front of the Impala to Dean. Dean, whose eyes were red and bagged, whose skin was pasty and pale. Who shook when he tried to hold things, and who barely slept anymore. Nothing he did helped – no diets or tapes or sleeping schedules. He was just… waiting for it to end. But it never would.

Not unless Sam, Charlie, and Cas could find a way to end it for him.

"He just said he had something to show us and hung up. He texted me this address." Was it anyone else, they'd be suspicious. But this was Cas, who was prone to not giving enough information or, when he did, gave too much of the wrong thing. Not that such mattered – they'd go to Cas no matter where. Even Dean, who barely ate anything anymore.

He was looking thinner…

"Well, let's get on with it then," Dean sighed, his voice echoing of a total and complete loss of hope. "He's inside?"

"I assume," Sam nodded, the two heading to the door along the side of the raggedy brick building. Upon pushing against the door, Dean found that the latch didn't even work, and so getting in took no effort.

Light shined in across the dusty concrete floor from the fogged windows along the tops of the walls. Naked, metal supports shot up in layers around the empty room, which stretched a generous amount on all sides. Some crates sat in the corner, appearing long ignored, and a chain hanging from the ceiling rattled in a slight breeze from a broken pane of glass.

In the center, his back to them, was Cas. His shortened coat was stiff, his arms out before him and unable to be seen.

"Cas," Dean started almost accusingly, as he was prone to with anyone when he thought he was being called on a wild goose chase. "What the hell are we-"

He stopped in his tracks, breath coming in quick. Sam furrowed his brows, pausing beside him and looking over curiously. Dean was simply blinking however, lips pursed as he stared at Cas. Which spurred Sam to look over as well.

Look over as Cas's hands fell to his sides, the left gripping the First Blade.

"What the hell, Cas?" Dean hissed, Sam's eyes widening. "I told you to hide that thing." Sam's thoughts, of course, flitted to why he'd have it. Did it have something to do with the cure? That was all he could figure. Why else would Cas bring such a thing back out into the open?

"Dean," Cas's deep voice echoed over to them, though still he was turned away. "You know that, when a demon possesses a vessel, they have access to the memories and thoughts of the host, yes?" Finally as turned to them, a strange, smirking tug on one side of his lips. Unlike any typical expression he would wear.

Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck prick.

Just in time, rather, for Cas to handle the blade, touching the point with one finger before his blue eyes were shadowed. With red.

"Crowley," Dean growled out, Cas's smile widening. Or, rather, the smile on his vessel's face.

"Incredible, really," Crowley continued, even as Dean scowled, "how weak fallen angels are. Even with grace, they don't stand a chance against being possessed. I really thought I'd have to fight harder, but Castiel was easier to overcome than I'd anticipated." He held up the blade. "And then I went and found where he'd hidden this." Finally the red vanished, that familiar blue returning.

"Cas is in there with you?" Dean barked out.

"Oh yes," Crowley nodded. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

"What are you thinking, Crowley?" Sam started, aware of the way Dean trembled beside him. He couldn't tell if it was because of the blade or what Crowley had done to Cas. "What are you trying to do?" Because giving Dean the blade certainly wasn't a good idea for anyone.

"Oh, don't sound so surprised, Moose," Crowley rolled Cas's eyes. "He's the one who didn't give this little trinket back to me in the first place." His face fell into serious irritation. "You really think I was going to let that go?"

"I gave it to Cas for a reason," Dean growled through his teeth.

"Yes, of course," Crowley looked narrowly at them. "Which is something I don't quite appreciate. After everything we've been through together, Dean, and you still pick that pathetic excuse of an angel over me. Really, it hurts me right where my heart used to be."

"Is that really what this is about?" Dean was near shouting, his hands balled into fists – his self-control. "The fact that I trust Cas over you? Like this should come as some great surprise?"

"It kind of does, really," Crowley countered. "If you look back, Sparkles has done some pretty horrific things these past few years. I really don't see that much of a difference between us."

"You're seriously putting us all in danger," Sam gestured to the blade, "over some personal vendetta against Cas? Don't you think that's a  _little_  petty?"

"Um, hello, demon," Crowley pointed to himself. "One of the perks of the job is getting joy out of tormenting others. Especially when they  _wrong_  you!"

"Get the hell out of Cas!"

"Dean, Dean," Crowley was smirking again. "Don't get too angry now. You might do something you'll regret." He held up the blade almost tauntingly. "Then again, maybe you'd enjoy it."

Dean simmered.

"You want it, don't you?" he smiled wider. "All you can think about is getting this back, isn't it? Don't you get it, Dean? We both want the same things. Always have. It's just that demon you is… rather difficult to deal with. But, you with the blade,  _alive_ …" Those blue eyes narrowed. "That I could work with."

"That's what you want," Sam scoffed. "You want your murder buddy back."

"Best friend, actually," Crowley smarmed.

Dean took a deep, resentful breath.

"Oh c'mon," Crowley tossed the blade into the air and caught it, Dean watching the whole time. "We had some good times together. And I know you'd have a good time with the blade downstairs. Just so long as we keep you from actually becoming a demon, there shouldn't be a problem."

"No."

"I know you want to," a teasing voice. "All you need is this."

"I'm not like that anymore," Dean decided firmly. "You don't have anything that I want."

"Well, we both know that's not true," he gestured to himself. "I've got your angel play toy. All tied up in here," he tapped the side of his head.

"So, what, you don't let Cas go unless Dean starts killing again?" Sam asked, clearly frustrated. "You know, I get the feeling Cas won't mind being locked up so long as Dean isn't using that thing." This pulled Dean's eyes Sam's way, if only in surprise that he would say such a thing. But no matter how cruel, it was true, so perhaps it didn't matter.

"You think I've got him locked away?" Crowley let out a short chuckle. "Oh boys, boys, boys. It may not be obvious on the outside, but do you  _really_  think I don't know how to torture an angel?" Both Sam and Dean's breaths caught in their chests. "You have no idea what's going on in here."

"Let him go!"

"Or you'll  _what_?"

"I'll kill you myself!"

"Do it," Crowley let go of the blade, both brothers watching with wide eyes as it slid across the floor. Stopping right at Dean's feet – at the tips of his boots. "C'mon Dean, run me through."

Dean stared down at it, hands shaking. But he didn't pick it up, even as it called to him. "Oh I will," he assured quietly. "As soon as you leave Cas's body, you're done for." He glanced back up.

"Oh, no dice, no dice," Crowley spread his arms out, as if to offer Cas's vessel to them. "If you don't do it now, you might miss your chance." He wanted Dean to kill him inside Cas's vessel, which would kill the angel too.

"No," Dean wasn't having any of it. He wasn't going to play this game.

"Oh, Dean," Crowley lowered Cas's voice, the look in those blue eyes darkening. "The longer you wait, the more time I have." Slowly, as though the limb were heavy and full, Crowley held out Cas's hand. Palm up, he gradually brought those long fingers into a fist, squeezing until the knuckles were white.

Until a pale blue glow shone through the cracks between his fingers, the room momentarily brightening as Cas's vessel flashed.

"I have him, Dean."

"Crowley!" Dean yelled, Sam gulping out a gape.

"Make your decision!" Crowley hollered, Cas's lips snarling, echoing of Crowley's temper when he did occasionally let it go. "Either you pick back up that blade or I'll stay in here with Castiel until you do!"

"Let him go!"

"When will you Winchesters learn that you can't force your way through everything?!" He flexed his fist again, the room flashing as the bulbs in the lights above their heads lit and shattered. The broken bits came littering down atop them, Dean and Sam flinching away at the continual popping as every single one was destroyed.

"Enough!" Sam shouted, neither brother knowing what Crowley was doing to Cas, but it didn't take a genius to realize it couldn't be good.

"We could have had everything, Dean!" Crowley yelled over the popping and shattering. "We could have ruled Hell! Together!" Instead, because he'd put so much effort in trying to sway Dean that way, all the demons were doubting Crowley's resolve. Were turning against him. Well, this was it. The clincher. Like his mother had reasoned, he either get Dean on their side or destroy him.

Crowley knew he didn't have to kill Dean to destroy everything that he was. Really, there was only one person Crowley knew he couldn't live without. And then one he knew he didn't  _want_  to.

Teeth gritted, Sam pulled the demon knife from his jacket, growing desperate. Before he could take action however, Crowley cast Cas's other hand his way, a violent force punching him in the gut before he was flung across the room. Into the crates, left limp and unconscious by the violent thrust.

"Sam!" Dean turned, wide-eyed to watch, but was then pulled back by "Cas's" voice.

"Moose'll survive," Crowley reasoned, the lights finally coming to swinging stops as every bulb was burst. "There are some nice perks that come with being in control of an angel however." He smiled.

Dean tightened his jaw, refusing to let his eyes drift toward the blade. His whole body was trembling, nostrils flared, but he wouldn't give in. He couldn't. Cas wouldn't want that.

Right?  _Right_?!

"You're wasting my time!" Crowley's fingers came together again, blue eyes flashing as the room lit up. As those plucked angel wings were raised up against the back wall, shadowed and ripped with only a few straggling feathers left apparent in their silhouette. "I don't like to be yanked around!"

Those blue eyes flared, Dean unsure what to do. What he  _could_  do as a great ringing began to echo across the warehouse, one that vibrated the rafters and shook the windows in their frames. Perhaps like a long, drawn out groan, one that burst into a scream. Because, even as Dean watched, he saw Cas's body crumple, bowing to the left as the imprint of his right wing bent.

Like a bone forcefully shattered, it broke, the ringing becoming a high-pitched note that forced Dean to cover his ears. It woke Sam, who did the same, the windows above their heads cracking.

" _Crowley_!" Dean tried to shout, but the screaming – Cas's screaming – was too much.

And then the other wing was snapped, dropped and dragging in its shadow.

The windows crashed from their panes, Dean flinching away, closing his eyes. The glass was sent bouncing all around them, the shards shooting forth and forcing both brothers to crouch down against the onslaught, to guard their bodies as best they could.

"I'll  _destroy_  him!" Crowley called, Dean flicking his gaze back up even as the glass ricocheted. "I'll rip him apart, piece by piece!"

"Crowley! Enough!" Dean tried to think of something, anything. Because Cas was being tortured, right there in front of him, and he felt like his fingers were inching for that blade. His thoughts too, which were swimming in agony and misery at the thought of what his best friend was going through.

"You think this is bad?!" Crowley was huffing inside Cas's body, blood erupting up from between those familiar lips and dripping down his chin. "You can't actually hear the screaming!"

"Stop!"

Another flash, those broken, abused wings visible yet again. And Cas's eyes were glowing, and Crowley was reaching his hand around to his back. To  _Cas's_  back, fingers ignited in a pale blue glow. He gripped at something neither Dean nor Sam could actually perceive, but they could see the shadow of it on the wall. The way Crowley twisted and broke Cas's human vessel until he had a proper grip. Until he was pulling, the ringing nearly knocking out the humans present as Cas shrieked.

As Crowley ripped that already shattered bone from whatever celestial plane it was attached to.

The broken glass shook against the concrete floor, blood exploding in Dean and Sam's ears as Cas screamed.

As he was severed, the shadow of the wing ripping away as Cas's human body collapsed.

The light died for a moment, Dean ignoring how his head throbbed as he forced his vision to steady. As the ringing became a deep, haggard cry of pain, one that erupted from the broken throat of the vessel grappling desperately at the ground.

Cas's voice, hurt and tortured and helpless. Not Crowley.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, only aware that he'd fallen to his knees as he reached forward. "Fight him, Cas!"

Those wide blue eyes turned to him, so clouded and fraught and confused. "Dean!" Cas called out to him, shaking hand grasping out against the floor. Gaping, Dean watched the red leak from the corners of his eyes. Streak down along his nose and cheeks. Blood. In tears. " _Dean!_ "

But then his body was cracking again, and that glow reignited the room.

"Cas!" Dean lurched forward, Cas's body pulled back up again like a puppet, Crowley's smirk settling back in.

Back into a place it didn't belong.

Dean didn't know he'd reached for the knife. Didn't even know it was in his hand until he was standing. But the look on Cas's face, and the sound of his screaming. It was the only thing echoing in his thoughts. He had to do something. Anything.

"That's right, Dean!" Crowley taunted. "Don't let him suffer! Put him out of his misery!"

"Dean!" Sam shouted, but was barely heard.

He knew this wouldn't work. As soon as he got close, went to slice the knife through, Crowley would be gone. Dean could see it playing through even as he considered it. Because once he took the plunge, it'd be too late. But if he didn't, then Cas was going to keep suffering. At least if he went for it, Crowley would flee. Then Cas… he had to be able to heal himself. If it was just a wound.

Just… just enough.

"C'mon Dean!" Crowley shouted. "What are you waiting for?!"

 _You'll live my life in reverse_.

"I won't wait!" Crowley was reaching back again, forcing that glow, going for that last broken wing.

And Dean was surging forward, he was running, his teeth gritted as he did. Sam was yelling behind him, but it didn't matter. None of it did. He had to stop this. One way or another, it had to end. Everything did.

That red smoke was pushing out even as Dean pressed the knife in. He registered all of it, the way the blade sank into that flesh, and the heat that came after, burning him. Heat that wasn't human, but was the real Cas. That was poisoned the second the blade touched down.

Breathing heavy, Dean took hold of Cas's shoulder. He held him up, even as his head fell back, empty as that scarlet cloud swished out through the broken windows.

The light died, Dean gripping the blade so tightly he felt his own skin straining, blood washing over his hand. It felt cold, and treacherous, and  _good_ , and he hated it. So much so that he was nauseous, his lips trembling as he looked down at the damage he'd done. The wound he'd opened – that felt so right and perfect.

But that he knew was  _wrong_.

"Dean," Cas's shaking voice pulled his attention back up, those red-stained eyes blinking blue at him.

But it didn't matter. It  _did_ , but he was being told it didn't. His shaking hand wanted to take the blade and swing it again, cut through and finish the job, discard the pleading in that expression.

"Cas, I can't- I-"

" _Dean_ ," he was calm, his hand reaching up and taking hold of the knife, wrapping around Dean's own even as the blade sat impaled on his person. "Stop."

He couldn't. It was too late.  _Too late_.

"It's okay," Cas coughed – there was more blood, but he pushed through. "It's okay, Dean. I forgive you.

"I  _forgive_  you. So…

" _Stop_."

And, teeth gritted, Dean did.

He let his trembling hand fall away from the blade, pulling it out just enough that when he did, it fell clattering to the ground.

But then there was blood. And Cas's legs were shaking, falling, and Dean was reaching out desperately to hold him. To catch him before he collapsed. It was as he took hold of that broken body, which was cradled back in his arms, that he felt the grip on him loosen. Because he'd done this, and Cas had forgiven him, and that was greater than anything telling him otherwise.

"Cas!"

"It's alright," Cas assured weakly, his lie apparent in the fact that it was Dean supporting him, proving that he was incapable of doing so himself. His hand was resting on the wound from the blade, blood seeping through.

"You've got to heal yourself," Dean felt for the wound too, foolishly thinking that, maybe with both of them, they could quell the blood. But did it matter how much blood? Dean didn't know. He didn't know anything. "You've got to have enough juice to do that."

"No," Cas shook his head, determination momentarily flaring in his eyes. He removed his left hand from beneath Dean's, reaching up and gripping at his forearm, palm placed directly over the mark.

He coughed, and there was  _so much_  blood.

"I won't waste my grace on that," he established, Dean not understanding. It wasn't a waste if it saved him! If it made a difference!

"Goddammit, Cas, if you can heal yourself, then do it!"

"Dean," Cas shook his head, grip tightening on the mark. "You need more healing than I do."

Words that didn't make sense to Dean.

That was, until that glow returned to Cas's eyes. A glow that spread down through to his arm until it was heating Dean's own skin. Burning it, Dean nearly jerking back in response. But before he could, the whole room was overcome, going brighter and brighter – more radiant than anything Cowley had been able to accomplish. But it wasn't a violent light, not like when so many angels had disabled those who'd peered upon them. It was soothing, like a balm that Dean had never felt before. One that eradicated the itch, wiped it away until all Dean could feel was the Mark like a heavy scab atop his skin.

He closed his eyes, unable to help falling back into it. The warm caress that caught him, that cradled him and shielded him from the demons calling out, begging him to pick up the blade again.

Like he'd gone numb.

And then it was gone. Like a wet bandage pealed from dry flesh, he felt the mark lift away. Held in careful hands, all the blackness and ugly instigations were pulled through, filtered out until every piece of the curse was gone.

Until nothing remained.

The light died, Dean blinking wide before he snapped his attention down to his forearm. Cas's hand slipped away, only a slight trickling of that blue light lifting from his fingertips. It seeped into Dean's arm, like a final salve to sate the echo. To wipe the canvas clean.

The Mark – it was gone.

And for a moment, Dean was astounded. Because he felt like himself again – in control and without the weight of an addiction he'd never wanted. But then the weight of Cas in his arms was even heavier, and that he was free didn't matter.

Because he'd still done this – it was still happening.

"Cas!" he called, eyes searching as he supported the angel, who was going even more limp in his arms. "What- what did you do?"

An answer he knew, though he didn't want to face it.

"I won't l-let you," Cas coughed out, more blood erupting uncontrolled from between his lips. "You're not Cain and I won't- I won't-" More coughing, like the body he'd only been barely holding together before was falling apart, deteriorating in Dean's arms.

Sam was coming up behind them, gaping and pale as he took in the scene.

"I won't let you become h-him."

"Cas…" Dean shook his head, his breath shaky as he blinked. But the tears came anyway, and with them a sense of hopelessness. "C'mon, you've got to heal yourself."

"No…" Cas shook his head, a weak, bloody smile momentarily creasing his lips. "I can't do that." Which Dean knew. Because that blue light was gone, had faded, and none of it was left for Cas. Whatever it was that angels were – if they were made of grace or something more – Cas had given it all up. Used all of himself to wash away that mark. A mark given at the sacrifice of a soul, and so only a sacrifice equal could remove it.

The only thing powerful enough.

"No, please," Dean gripped tighter, unwilling to let go. To let this happen. "Cas, don't. There has to be something." Anything they could do. "I  _need_  you."

The salty tears were trickling down his cheeks, Sam pulled in too. As Cas took a deep breath that couldn't be finished – that sent him coughing and convulsing in Dean's arms.

"I need you, man,  _please_."

But there was nothing they could do.

Instead, teeth gritted, Dean held him. Watched as his body – all that was left of Cas – slowly broke down, as if he were fading from the inside out. Cas tried to keep calm, to stay still, if only to ease the thoughts of those watching, but he couldn't breathe and his vessel's organs were burned – charred and destroyed. Bones were broken, and he bled out from the open wound in his abdomen. In a pool of blood he was sinking, shadows dancing all around.

A darkness that closed in, that was suffocating and collapsing in on those green eyes looking down on him.

Heartbroken green eyes.

Cas had faced death before. Many times he'd thrown himself in the path of oncoming destruction without a second thought. He'd fought at Dean's side, and Sam's, and never even second-guessed that sacrificing himself for either of them was the wrong choice. Even then, he knew he'd done the right thing.

But death had never come this slowly before, never walked toward him with such a gradual gait. Not in the midst of happening – because Cas had never felt death take him, not like this. Not with every part of his body. It wasn't shocking, or noble, or righteous. He wasn't doing this because God was commanding it, or because the world was in peril. He was doing it for one man.

Just one, whose eyes were filled with tears and were blinking down at him, sorrow and misery and guilt painted in their depths.

It was a human sentiment, this idea of seeing ones life flash before their eyes. Cas didn't experience it, couldn't – there were too many years to consider. But none of it mattered because those eyes were more important than anything he'd seen or felt prior. From galaxies and wars, and births and choices. Everything he was existed in that gaze, and it was in this that he really experienced regret.

Angels weren't taught to value their lives. Rather, it was the opposite. They'd been told to value humans, to save and protect them. So much so that it'd driven them to jealousy and neglect. But Cas wasn't really an angel. Not anymore. He'd experienced free will, rebelled, made his own choices. He'd been human himself, and felt the fragility of what that meant. Learned how precious life really was, and how quickly it could be over.

And it was for these reasons that such a sensation fell over him. Because he was an angel who'd walked with humanity, and so death meant something only in the shadow of that life.

And those  _eyes_ , which he realized then that he'd never see again.

Because angels didn't go to Heaven, or Hell. They weren't supposed to feel these things, weren't supposed to want to live on. To see the light at the end of the tunnel. Mindless soldiers, that was their purpose.

But Cas wasn't a soldier. Not then. Not in those final moments. He was human, and he was facing that which no human would ever have to face.

"Dean," he sputtered out, blood clogging his voice as something inside him reached out, tried to hold him up above drowning. " _Dean_!"

It hurt. It all hurt so badly, and he didn't want to die. He didn't want to disappear.

"Cas, no, no," Dean held him tighter. " _Please_."

It took all the strength he had to pull his one hand up and grasp desperately at Dean's shoulder. To try and hold on even though he knew he couldn't. He gritted his teeth, he tried to keep it in, but the blood kept flowing and his body kept failing.

And the darkness kept coming, trying to block out those eyes.

What happened to angels when they died?

Where did they go?

"Dean," his voice was a whimper, bloody tears trickling down his cheeks. "I'm-

"I'm  _afraid_."

His whole body trembled, teeth gritting. He knew he was falling apart, that he couldn't stay strong. That Dean could see it all painted across his face – the fear and pain and uncertainty. Abrupt, anxious distress. It fell down on him with a cringing lack of control, lashes blinking as he coughed – as there were more and more tears.

He just wanted to be told it was all going to be okay. That he'd see those eyes again, even though he knew it wasn't true.

He tried to hold on, hand grappling for Dean's shoulder, but his fingers were slipping.

"I know," Dean pulled one hand up – he ran it through Cas's damp, mussed hair. Held him. Tried to keep him there. "You're okay," the words were empty, and his quivering lips gave that away. "You're gonna b-be okay."

He watched as the life drained away.

"You're okay, Cas," he could barely get the words out, barely got them past his shaking grief. "You're g-gonna be alright."

But he wasn't. And then Cas's hand fell away, and his breath caught. His whole body fell lax, and Dean watched as the last of him faded from that familiar blue. Until he'd slipped away, right through Dean's fingers, and all he held in his arms was emptiness. A glazed, still, cold nothingness.

" _Cas_ ," Dean's eyes clenched as his strength gave out, as that body was slowly lowered to the floor. His forehead fell to that still, coat-covered shoulder. And a terrible kind of sob wracked his whole body.

But none of it made a difference. Sam and Dean were alone in that warehouse.

And Cas was gone, all that remained being a broken, ashen shadow of a single wing imprinted on the concrete floor.


	10. There's Always a Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean meet when they both get the new positions at a high-end publishing company. A meeting that convinces Cas he could probably write a book full of trashy paragraphs describing Dean's laugh and how he smiles.
> 
> Rated K for general audiences.
> 
> This is actually the deleted section of another fic I'm editing. It was just unnecessary in the final, but I still thought it was cute. So I guess it's kind of like a preview.

Cas had known Dean for ten years.

They'd both graduated university at twenty-three, though they hadn't attended together. However, that hadn't meant their ideas hadn't aligned. Both were country boys – Dean from Kansas, Cas from Iowa – and both had had big city dreams. Which may have contributed to why they both worked so hard. The positions at one of New York's most prestigious publishing companies, FergusCrowley's Publishers, had been introductory, secretary type jobs. But that hadn't meant they weren't important, or promising of future editor promotions.

The competition had been steep, and there'd been hundreds of applicants, but of all the recently graduated students, it'd been Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester who'd come out on top. Castiel – who'd spent the majority of his high school and college years writing novels, whether they'd been publishable or not. And Dean – a poet who'd spent many of his afternoons reading allowed in bars and collaborating with others of his type over beer and other questionable drugs. Both had graduated with honors, with editing experience, and over four-point GPAs. They had been, to be more precise, the cream of the crop. Top of the line. Head of the pack.

The first three years of their time at Crowley's had been spent fetching coffee and making copies. Not that this had shocked either of them, but as the newbies, they'd often times been sent on errands together. Which was how they'd first met.

And how Cas had known thirty minutes into talking to Dean that he was done for.

"I mean, I know we're fresh out of college or whatever, but really? Donuts? How stereotypical can they get?" was the first thing Dean ever said to Cas.

"Yeah, r-right," Cas had stuttered out.

They'd been headed down the elevator, Dean in his prim and proper, well-fitted suit, and Cas in the one he hadn't bothered to have tailored and that sat on his shoulders with slight bags. Though they'd been hired at the same time, that was the first Cas had ever actually spoken to Dean – two weeks after their first day. They worked under different editors, as it were, and so didn't cross paths unless they happened to be in the copy room together, or on errands. And even then Cas had made no attempts at conversation. It wasn't that he was shy, he just had trouble initially approaching new people, which had stopped him saying hello. Besides, Dean was all smiles and sunshine, and that was hard for anyone to introduce themselves to.

"I'm Dean," he'd held out his hand, Cas pausing for just a moment before shaking it. "You're Castiel, right? The guy that was hired in with me?"

"Yes." The elevator had reached the ground floor, the two stepping out into the bright, open, window-filled lobby. They'd passed a woman working as the receptionist on their way by, Dean casting her a winning smile before he'd look back to Castiel.

"I don't know about you, but I'll be glad when we've worked off this intro-coffee-fetching-whatever it is we are. I came to New York to make a difference, you know?" He'd been pushing their way out into the street, holding the door open for Cas. "And I don't just mean by getting any of my stuff published. Other people's too."

"Yeah, me too," Cas's response had been less boisterous, but no less sincere.

"But, I guess we all have to climb that ladder," Dean had grinned, Cas trying not to be uncomfortable with how utterly beautiful he was. Freckles, bright green eyes, a smile to rival sunlight. And he was the type to stand just a little too close, be a little too friendly. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made it all the more clear to Cas how attracted he was to him. But he'd realized that the first time he'd spotted Dean sprinting down the hall with a stack of fluttering manuscripts in his arms.

"I suppose," Cas had shrugged, uncertain what to say. It had been to his benefit that Dean could carry a conversation – that he was extroverted enough to continue on even without Cas's assistance.

"But it's just so slow, you know?" He'd huffed as they'd walked down the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets as he'd kicked childishly at a stone. One that went rocketing to the left and right into the path of a woman who scowled, clearly affronted. "I want the world to hear what I have to say. Maybe that's selfish, I don't know, but I didn't spend four years critiquing mediocre poems to get here and be told to go get donuts."

Cas had tried to relate. Rather, he'd known he could, he'd just had to find something to say. "Yeah. I don't know how many stories about broken hearts and failing relationships I had to read." Not that those things were bad, but they were one of the go-tos beginner writers tended to default on. And usually rather poorly.

"'Oh doth my heart yet beat / with feelings of intense ardor,'" Dean had placed his hand on his chest dramatically, "'so impossible then is writing's feat / instead the English language I'll murder.'"

Cas had smiled slightly, his mouth speaking before he'd been able to stop it. "'And his sapphire eyes sparkled in the moonlight, reflecting his feelings in their silver haze. I was overcome, dizzy, and tripped over my perfectly, mary-sue sized feet. The ground rushed up, but then I was caught in his wastefully muscular arms. My hero. My Adonis.'"

Dean had laughed. Really laughed. And it was in that moment that Cas had realized he'd probably be able to write countless trashy paragraphs about that laugh. About those eyes and lips and the open way he walked. It wasn't as though "it" had happened in that moment, but Cas had seen the potential, known he'd been balanced on the edge of a cliff. And that it'd only take a slight nudge to send him toppling over.

Maybe it'd been inevitable.

Because Cas had known Dean for ten years.

And he'd been in love with him for that long too.


	11. A Decade of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean have been best friends for ten years, the fact that Cas is a bit in love with the other man a secret he's kept to himself. However, after having a few too many drinks at the bar, they end up at Cas's apartment alone. Alone with far too many things between them left unsaid.
> 
> Rated M for sexual content.
> 
> Bottom!Cas Top!Dean.

Cas had known Dean for ten years.

And he'd been in love with him for that long too.

"Happy Birthday," a voice muttered in Cas's ear, causing him to turn in his seat. He hadn't heard Dean come in, but that wasn't really so surprising. Cas tended to keep his door open all the time, so it was easy for people to sneak up on him. Especially when he was going over a manuscript.

Dean set a cupcake down atop the page he'd been reading, Cas managing to crack a small smile.

"Wow, look at that," he admired the workmanship of the cake – all flowery and pink with a bee in the center. "Did you do this?"

"Of course," Dean went back around the desk, sitting down across from Cas before undoing the front button on his suit. "You know me, I'm  _excellent_  with frosting and… sprinkles and shit." Cas cocked a skeptical brow. "I got it down at the bakery. You know I did."

"Yes, I do," Cas agreed. "You must have requested the bee though. I didn't see that through the window."

"I can be thoughtful," Dean defended. "I am a poet after all."

"You haven't published anything in years."

"I've published plenty of  _other_  people's stuff," he sniffed. "And just because I haven't published anything recently doesn't mean I haven't been writing. You don't know me. You don't know my life."

"Yeah, okay," Cas wiped his finger along the top of the pink frosting before sucking it between his lips. "That's why we lived together for three years. And why I was one of the groomsmen at your wedding. Because I  _don't_  know you." A painful memory, the wedding, but he wasn't about to tell Dean that.

"Not a groomsman. You were my second best man, get it right."

"There isn't a difference."

"Sure there is." They'd had this debate before. "Sam's my brother, so he had to be my best man. But you're my best friend, and I didn't want to choose."

"So you made up a new position for me."

"You should be flattered."

"Oh, I am," Cas rolled his eyes.

"Nothing I ever do is good enough for you," Dean shook his head, feigning offense. "Here I am, bringing you a damn cupcake on your birthday, making you my second best man, and I don't even get a 'thank you.' We've known each other ten years, and I don't think I've ever felt so underappreciated."

"Oh, my apologies," Cas said flatly. "Please, let me make it up to you. Would you like that blow job in my office or yours?"

"Aw, you know me so well," Dean grinned, winking. "That's okay though, I've got assistants for that kind of dirty work. Besides, it is  _your_  birthday. If anyone should be getting blow jobs, it's you."

"That's alright, I'll pass," Cas waved him off, sinking back in his plush rolling chair. He didn't look Dean in the eyes. Couldn't.

"Seriously, Cas," Dean leaned forward, as if to make up for how Cas had leaned back. "You're turning thirty-three and I don't think I've ever seen you date anyone for over a week. I'm kind of worried, to be honest."

Cas pursed his lips and tried to come up with something to say. "I'll meet the right guy eventually. Until then, don't worry about it. I'm not." Because he knew who the right guy was. He just couldn't have him. Really, Cas  _had_  tried to get over Dean, but it didn't matter who he went out with, he just had no interest. He'd long since come to accept that he'd be alone for the rest of his life. He could be satisfied, maybe, with just friendship.

He didn't have another choice.

"Not all of us can be as lucky as you," Cas continued when Dean's disapproving expression never changed, "and meet 'the one' at twenty." That was how long Dean and Lisa had been together – longer than Dean and Cas had even known each other. Which was why, as soon as he'd learned about Lisa, Cas had realized he didn't stand a chance (aside from the fact that Dean was apparently straight). It'd been hard at first, but he'd eventually become numb to it. When Dean and Lisa got married, Cas all out gave up. Because he'd always had that little bit of hope – but standing up there, seeing Dean with the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with… Well, he knew he couldn't compete with that.

"Yeah, right…" Dean replied, leaning back again. His response wasn't what Cas had expected – was far too bitter – and Cas furrowed his brows, head cocking slightly in concern.

"Are you and Lisa doing alright?" Because what other conclusion was he supposed to come to?

"Uh, well…" Dean appeared abruptly uncomfortable, Cas's eyes widening at his behavior. Because this had to be serious, if the way Dean looked to the open door said anything. Getting up quickly, Cas closed it, shutting out the rest of the office as he returned to his desk. "Listen, Cas, it's your birthday and I'm not gonna-"

"Dean, what's wrong?" Not to paint the wrong picture. Cas wasn't in any way hoping that Dean and Lisa were having trouble. Dean was, first and foremost, his best friend, and that was important. He was firm in his stance that he knew he would never be with Dean, and so was only worried. Marital trouble was a big deal.

"It's not…" Dean shook his head, glancing down at his hands in his lap.

"Dean," Cas's voice was soft. "What happened?"

Dean sighed, looking back up again. Cas knew he wanted to tell him, otherwise he never would have responded as he had. Dean wasn't careless, or flippant. Whatever it was he needed to talk about, Cas would be there.

"It's not really so much  _what_  happened as… what's  _been_  happening," Dean verified quietly, looking almost ashamed. "Cas, I'm sorry I didn't tell you." This caused Cas's eyebrows to smash together further. "I… signed the papers last week. Lisa and I are… we're divorced."

Cas blinked, honestly shocked. It took him a moment to figure out what to say, or even how to respond.

"That was… that was fast," was all he managed to get out.

"It… it wasn't, actually," Dean replied. "We've been separated for six months."

Cas gaped. "Dean," he breathed out. "Are you alright? I didn't… why didn't you say anything? Have you been dealing with this all on your own?" He'd had no idea. Though, as his thoughts flitted quickly in and out, a few things did become apparent to him. It had been a little over six months since he'd been over to Dean's place, since he'd seen Lisa. He and Lisa got on fine, but they'd never been particularly close. And it hadn't even occurred to him that there was a reason he hadn't been over at Dean's house. They saw each other so much, and hung out at Sam's, and Cas's, that such a fact hadn't even occurred to him.

But it did then.

"No, I… I had Sam," Dean gulped. "He knew…"

"Sam…" Cas nodded, unsure what to think. So Dean hadn't been keeping this from everyone – he'd told Sam. Sam, who was Dean's younger brother and a lawyer downtown. Cas and Sam were friends too – close. Sam was probably Cas's next closest friend after Dean. And he knew he shouldn't feel hurt that Dean had told Sam and not him – they  _were_  brothers. But divorced? And he hadn't known?

Granted, Dean had seemed a little down lately, but he'd always said it was because he was having trouble with some writing he was working on. A project. A notion Cas could understand and sympathize with. And wouldn't question.

Had that been a lie?

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Dean said again, still with that look of shame. "I just… I didn't… I didn't want to deal with more people knowing until it was done. And I know I usually tell you everything, and I… I…"

"It's okay," Cas interrupted, doing his best to be balanced between sympathy for Dean and hurt that he'd keep something like this from him. They were supposed to be best friends. Dean had said he thought of them as brothers. But just Sam? No, Dean had just gotten a divorce. Focus on that. "Are  _you_  doing okay?"

"I'm alright," Dean shrugged, though there was still an obvious haze of hesitance around him, as if he feared he'd messed up somehow, or offended Cas. Maybe he had, but it was just too soon to tell. This was a crack after all, wasn't it? The kind of crack that eventually destroyed things.

Cas didn't understand why Dean hadn't told him…

"I've kind of… known this was coming for a while," Dean admitted, Cas wide-eyed and intent, and not trying to imagine Dean reaching his hand into the damn cookie jar with him looking straight at him. "About a year and a half ago we started going to these marriage counseling meetings." More bitterness, this time in the form of a scoff. "Maybe that was when I started to admit things were- that I was… I don't know." Dean shook his head, the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingers.

"Dean," Cas couldn't hide it anymore, the betrayed injury his best friend had inflicted on him. "How come you never said anything?"

"I…" Dean glanced up, lips tense. "It was just-"

"Hey, Winchester, Novak," their conversation was put to a halt, one of the other editors – Uriel – popping his head in without even bothering to knock. "Friday meeting's starting. We're already two minutes late." He thought he was doing them a favor, reminding them, and looked quite smug about the whole thing.

"Right, sure," Dean jumped to his feet. "We're coming." Uriel nodded, leaving the door open as he headed off down the hall. Cas was up too, though he'd risen far slower. "Look," Dean turned back only quickly, "we'll talk about this later, alright?"

"Sure…" Cas was still a little too shocked to function properly. Which was why he barely registered the cringing smirk Dean threw his way, or how the door was held open for him. He spent the entirety of the Friday meeting distracted, asking himself the same thing over and over and over again.

Why hadn't Dean told him anything?

Of course, repetitive considerations kept cropping up as answers. They weren't as close as Cas thought. Dean didn't trust him. There was something else going on.  _Dean didn't trust him_. It all made Cas nearly sick to his stomach. He tried to tell himself that such things weren't important, that his best friend had just gotten divorced and that he needed to be there for that. But then a whispering voice in the back of his head would call back, "but he didn't tell you, so he obviously doesn't need your support."

It didn't make sense. None of it. But what else was he supposed to think?

The pain such notions caused him was immense, and it was only through a daze that he got through the end of the day. Back in his office, alone, he was jolted by the sound of his phone vibrating. A text. From Sam.

"Dean told me Crowley has him working on something late, but I assume we're still meeting at the bar? He said he'd show up later."

Right. Birthday. Sam and Dean were taking him out for drinks. Like every year. And had Dean been called out by Crowley? Yes, something told him it was true. That it'd happened during the meeting when he hadn't been paying attention.

Inside himself, Cas tied down the darkness that he'd thought he'd had under control. That echoed of his hopeless realities with Dean and his new insecurities. They were telling him to go home, to be hurt, to do things he knew wouldn't help.

No. He couldn't. He'd go to the bar. He'd go on like it was nothing.

He had plenty of practice at such things.

Sam was a tall, looming presence even in the shadowed bar. Cas walked through in a flurry of his polished suit and trench coat – courtesy of Dean, who'd long since taught Cas "how to dress." Sam smiled at Cas's approach, gesturing to the stool beside him before Cas sat down.

"Happy thirty-third," Sam said, clapping him on the back. Cas threw him a smile, a tight one, and, though he tried, he knew it was unconvincing from the get-go. "Hey, you alright?" Sam asked soon after, his own good humor faltering. "Something happen?"

Cas had to know. He just needed to.

"Why didn't Dean tell me about his divorce?" he looked directly at Sam as he asked, eyes unblinking. In the same moment, the bartender dropped off whatever Sam had ordered previously, tactful enough to notice the tension between the two men and therefore say nothing before walking away.

"Uh, well…" Sam grappled forward. "That… that is the question, isn't it?"

Cas narrowed his gaze.

"Look, Cas," Sam sighed, wide shoulders falling some. "I tried to get Dean to tell you. Months and months ago. But he said that… that it'd be easier if you didn't know." This didn't help matters any, Cas only growing more insecure about the whole situation. Which Sam could probably see painted across his face.

"Why would it be easier?" Cas asked, tone hollow. "I- I could have helped. I could have been there." Did Dean not like how he handled himself during such situations? Did he feel that Cas was more of a bother? Was that how he really felt?

As far as Cas was concerned, this whole thing was spiraling worse and worse. It was one thing to be in love with his best friend, and to understand that those feelings would never be returned, but it was quite another to be even further separated. Could it really be true that Dean felt less for him than Cas thought he already did? Were there things about Cas that he actually found irritating, or in need of policing?

Like he was a child that couldn't handle the truth?

"I know," Sam agreed, Cas's distress clearly apparent. "I think Dean just didn't want to deal with more sympathy and attention than he had to. You know how he can be about expressing himself and… stuff like that." Part of Cas wanted to say "but," to offer up all the reasons why that wasn't viable, but he couldn't. It hurt too much. Instead, he reached for his drink, bringing it to his lips as Sam continued. "And I think he was ashamed. Ashamed that his marriage failed, and because of why it did." Cas's blue eyes flicked over even as he continued to sip the beer from the glass. "I mean," Sam's voice was lower, "he said he fell for someone else."

Cas hadn't intended to drink the whole thing. Not in one straight go. But as soon as Sam's words had hit his ears, he found he couldn't put it down. That he needed the alcohol more in that moment than he'd ever needed such before. He drank the whole thing, Sam watching with wide eyes until he replaced it heavily down on the bar.

"What?" he finally managed to sputter out.

"Uh, yeah," Sam continued after a pause. "That's what he said, anyway. That him and Lisa were going to these counseling sessions, and that he realized he was in love with someone else." He shrugged. "I don't… really know much about it otherwise. He doesn't like to talk about it."

Cas thought he was going to be sick.

Because, really, how unfair could life be? Not only did Dean think him unable to be supportive, but he'd fallen for some other woman too? How was it that Dean could fall in love, get married, fall out of love, then back in, and not even be divorced yet? Obviously he was single as of then, but that was hardly the point.

And here Cas was, still stuck on the same guy ten years later. A guy he knew perfectly well he didn't stand a chance with.

He was beyond thankful when the bartender slid him another glass, more than ready to bring it to his lips and begin drinking it down again.

"Wow, starting without me?" Dean's voice was like a knife twisting into his chest, Cas already quite positive this was going to be the worst birthday he'd ever had. Worse, even, than the one where his older brother, Gabriel, had scared a bird into shitting on his head.

"Yeah, I guess so," Sam was still watching Cas, Dean soon intent on the same as the second glass was drunk dry. It fell, slamming, to the bar a moment later, Cas breathing hard as he signaled for the bartender to bring another.

Dean and Sam looked between each other in concern. Before, that was, Sam leaned his head back and to the side, signaling to his old brother, who, despite his furrowed brows, took the message. Eyes on Cas only momentarily, he draped his coat over his own soon-to-be stool before they both retreated some toward the bathroom.

"Is he alright?" Dean hissed once they'd rounded the corner out of sight.

"No!" Sam barked rather accusingly before lowering his voice. "You told him  _today_  about the divorce? What the hell?! It's his birthday!"

"Is that what this is about?" Dean's eyes bugged.

"Apparently!" Sam sighed. "I don't know what's going through his head, but it seems like he's upset you didn't tell him. Which I get, by the way. You should have told him a long time ago what was going on! I still don't understand why you didn't!"

" _That's_  why he's upset?" Dean ignored his brother's later commentary. "Christ!" Dean huffed, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "This was not how I was going to go about this."

"About what?"

"Nothing!" Dean snapped, turning back to the bar. "Never mind." He ignored his brother's hissing protests, instead hunkering his way back over to Cas, who had yet another drink that was quickly disappearing.

"Hey, why don't you slow down a bit there," Dean recommended as he sat, a forced smile on his face as he reached for Cas's drink.

"Don't," Cas's deep voice blurted shortly, his drink pulled back against Dean. "It's  _my_  birthday." He brought it to his mouth again then, Dean sighing as he realized that Cas was likely already beyond his reach. If he wasn't suffering the side effects by then, he would be shortly. All Dean could do from then on was watch and make sure Cas didn't overdo it. No point in talking to him about anything.

So, instead, he ordered himself a drink, Sam coming over and starting on his own. Conversation, what little there was of it, was short and clipped, Dean spurred by Cas's brief, moderately frazzled attitude to drink more himself than he normally did. Until the outing had passed by with lacking acknowledgement from Cas, eye rolls from Dean, and concerned looks between them from Sam.

They left earlier than they normally would have, Cas happy to push himself from the bar and away from Dean. He said a short farewell, as if that was seriously how things were going to end, and it was only with a knowing look that Dean followed. Supposing it was best to leave them to it, Sam sighed, the only one still relatively sober.

"Cas, wait!" Dean stumbled out into the chilly night, seeing his friend calling a cab before rather gracelessly slipping inside. Catching the door before it was slammed closed, Dean ducked his way in as well, not appreciating the somewhat hurt look Cas threw his way. Like he was somehow in the wrong for going along.

When it was clear Cas wasn't going to, Dean gave the cabby the address to Cas's building. And, unfortunately, the air between them remained stale yet, what with the presence of a stranger. Which may have been good or bad, Dean wasn't sure. He did know, however, that it gave him some prep time to organize his lagging thoughts. Really, though he'd taken the first step in telling Cas about his divorce, he still wasn't ready to go any further. But he also hadn't anticipated that Cas would react so poorly to the news. It made him nervous, and uptight, and worried that Cas was going to hate him if he didn't do something.

It didn't take them long to reach Cas's place, which was downtown. Not the same apartment where they'd once lived together, not in a long shot. No, while Dean had moved to a further suburb with Lisa, Cas had taken up one of those high-end penthouses, the perfect bachelor pad.

"Is there something you need, Dean?" Cas asked once they'd exited the cab, the two of them pausing outside the guarded entrance to the apartment complex. Cas swayed slightly on his feet, clearly intoxicated, and Dean, who wasn't quite so inebriated, took advantage of the opportunity.

"I'm just making sure you get upstairs, alright?" he raised his hands defensively.

"I don't need your help," Cas tried to object, turning away from Dean with a level of irritation he normally never let show through. "Go home, wherever that happens to be. Not like you'd tell me anyway." Yes, he was drunk enough to finally let go of some of his control. That Dean had just gotten divorced had long since been pushed to the back of his mind, his own hurt feelings on the matter chipping away at any resolve to remain civil.

Dean, however, had more than one reason to hold his tongue, and so bit back his words despite how his own annoyance simmered. Instead, he trailed Cas in through the front, the doorman familiar enough with the tenants – and who regularly visited them – to offer Dean a simple nod as Cas stumbled slightly on the carpet.

"C'mon, I get you're pissed, but I'm just making sure you get upstairs," Dean reached out to take him by the arm, to steady him, and growled when Cas pushed him away.

"I'm fine," he snapped, heading across the lobby to the elevator. There weren't too many people around, just the receptionist and a single man reading a newspaper against the wall, but even if there had been, it was pretty clear Cas was unstable, and so no one objected to Dean's persistence in trying to look after him. Rather, any looks were the sideways kind, Dean getting on the elevator with his "best friend" before hitting the button to take them to the top floor.

"Go home, Dean," Cas muttered out.

"Shut up." Dean sighed, the two of them staying on opposite sides of the elevator. Cas looked away, clearly sulking, and perhaps it was Dean's own unsteady disposition that spurred him to speak again. "You know, I don't quite get why you're so pissed. It's not like you're the one that just went through a divorce."

No response.

"And I think I'm well within my rights to choose who I tell and who I don't."

"I don't want to talk about it, Dean. Please just… go home." It didn't take long for the elevator to reach their destination, Dean unable to find something to say even as Cas headed out into the hall. Part of him wanted to stay in the elevator, injured by Cas's attitude and wanting to be the stubborn, pouting type. But his anxious nerves, the ones concerned about Cas's apparent cold shoulder, spurred him to follow after yet again, Cas fumbling with his keys in front of his door – one of only two on the top level.

"Here," Dean took the lump of keys from Cas, who'd almost dropped them twice, before locating the familiar key and pushing open the door.

"Don't," Cas yanked them from the lock a moment later, shoving his way inside and going to slam the door in Dean's face, which he caught before coming in after.

"What the hell, Cas?"

"Are you incapable of catching a clue?!" Cas spun on him, the door clicking closed at Dean's venture. "Go home! I don't want you here!"

"I don't understand why you're so pissed off!" Dean hurtled back. "It's my business!"

"I know that, alright?!" Cas gestured to the door. "And I'm trying to tell you to leave because I want to be alone! Because if you don't, I'm going to say something I'll regret!" A lot of things, if he wasn't careful. "So just… go away!"

"What do you have to say?! Why does this bother you so much?!" Dean stepped closer. Part if him wanted to fix it, whatever it was, and part of him wanted to avoid the subject all together.

"We're supposed to be friends!" Cas shouted. "You're my best friend, Dean! Why wouldn't you tell me? What did I do?!"

"Do?" Dean furrowed his eyebrows, clearly taken aback by the question. "You didn't… You didn't do anything."

"Then what's your problem with me?!"

"I don't… that's not it," Dean shook his head. "I didn't tell you because… because it'd make it too complicated!"

"I complicate things for you?" They'd grown closer, facing each other with only a few feet between.

"No, that's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean?!"

"You don't understand!"

"Then  _make me_  understand!"

So he did. It was probably the alcohol. That mixed with desperation. Dean hadn't intended to go about things this way – with so little finesse or warning. In fact, he hadn't even been sure he'd wanted to do anything to begin with. It was terrifying, considering it, but as of the week prior, there was nothing stopping him. Nothing, that was, but Cas's potential reaction.

Yet as Dean reached out, grappling at the lapels of Cas's jacket, he found that any sense of caution had been long discarded. Rather, he yanked Cas across the space between them, the darkness of the apartment not at all hindering in Dean finding Cas's lips. In pushing his own violently against them, eyes squeezed shut with the sheer fear of what response he'd garner.

Cas, however, didn't know how to react. He'd drunk far too much, far more than he'd remembered doing in years. Everything was a blur, a shadow, and only vaguely did he really, truly realize that Dean was kissing him. And that this fact was important. Rather, the significance of the situation was quarantined to the back of his thoughts, only surface information managing to leak through.

That was – Dean Winchester was  _kissing_  him. Maybe it was a dream, maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was somewhere in-between. No matter, it was still happening – one way or another – and Cas wasn't about to refuse such a thing. Not in his current mindset and lack of logic.

He wanted it. He wanted it  _so bad_.

Fumbling in the dark, Cas's hands slipped clumsily beneath Dean's open leather jacket, scraping at his suit as he pushed back, returning the kiss with little in the way of hesitance. Both of them knew they should stop, should think things through and actually discuss what was happening, but everything was so foggy, and dark, and already their bodies were feeling the heat.

Cas wasn't aware that he was pushing until they stumbled into the back of his couch, mouths still pulling at one another as Dean's hands drifted from Cas's coat to his neck. He held him there for a moment, sucking at Cas's upper lip somewhat harshly before drifting lower again. He yanked Cas's coat from his shoulders, the heavy article fwapping back as Cas allowed it to be shed before he was tugging at Dean's leather one as well. Until it was off, falling down the back of the couch.

Pushing his way into Dean's mouth, Cas brushed his tongue along his teeth, fingers up and sifting through Dean's hair – pulling lightly at the short locks while muscular hands gripped at his back, pulling him closer. Close enough that the aroused need between their legs was pressed harshly into the fabrics of their clothes, Dean groaning when Cas bit his bottom lip lightly. As he sucked it, his hips thrusting shallowly into Dean's quite against any control he had.

Not that it mattered – Dean was equally wanting.

So wanting, in fact, that he'd plunged his hands lower, behind the back fabric of Cas's trousers, his touch stretching inside Cas's briefs as he roughly gripped at the firm flesh waiting there, massaging Cas's ass nearly to the point of pain. Moaning, Cas's lips fell to Dean's chin, dotting kisses along that jaw as those hands slipped down between his cheeks, still gripping and squeezing as Cas's hips ground forward.

Dean always had been a bit of an ass-man.

Cas knew where this was going however, or, rather, he knew where he wanted it to go. And while the attention Dean was giving him was wonderful, it wasn't enough. He wanted more, he wanted it all, and he wasn't about to be patient. Not after ten years of waiting.

Grip on Dean's shoulders, he ripped back his suit jacket, the fabric pooling around Dean's elbows as Cas then went for the tie. With experienced skill, he pulled the knot loose before tossing it to the side. Within moments, he had his attention on the button-up shirt, arms flexing as he pulled it apart at the collar, buttons snapping to the ground. After all, doing so was no easy feat, but the faster, the better.

Dean wasn't too apt to let go if his hold on Cas's ass however, which left him in a state of dress that Cas wasn't appreciative of. Growling, Cas momentarily pushed away his need to be close, shoving back and forcing Dean's hands to scrape from their kneading.

Their eyes flew open, heavy blue on green as Cas stumbled back. For a moment they stared, balanced on the precipice. But then that wind blew and Dean was shucking off his shirt, Cas reaching up and discarding his own tie and jacket before quickly undoing the buttons on his blue dress shirt. When they were both finally bare-chested, Dean stepped forward, kissing Cas again as his hands drifted to his hips. Taking hold of the rim of Cas's pants, Dean was soon yanking them down – briefs and all. His lips pulled away as he sank lower, Cas's arousal catching on the fabric and eliciting a pleasured moan.

Fabric pooling around his shoes, Cas bucked forward into the empty air, gasping as Dean's lips drifted quickly down his chest. Lower and lower until that tongue was dragging across his length, hands once more grasping at his ass. His fingers again filtered into Dean's hair, Cas gritting his teeth, taking in the sensation of that wet muscle smoothing over him, tasting him before beginning to lightly caress at his tip. To kiss and suck and tease until Cas was groaning. Hips pushing forward, he didn't ask, but demanded that Dean take him in further. Until those perfect lips were wrapping him up, hot and pulling, Cas thrusting forward.

Though he didn't register it then, Dean was thankful he'd practiced. That pulling Cas in was something he'd wanted to be ready for in all his late night fantasies, and so was able to breathe him in, fingers stretching that sculpted ass as his nose skimmed his dark hair. He held him, feeling a shudder run down through Cas's whole form as he ran his tongue along the underside of his length. And as he began to pull back – sucking Cas back with him – he let the tips of his fingers skim against Cas's heated entrance, Dean's own arousal spiking at being able to explore his best friend's body so intimately.

He wanted Cas – wanted to know all of him – and so indulged. Dean pushed his first finger in, Cas gasping a moan above as he did. As he pressed still further – until he was knuckle deep, his mouth taking Cas in again at the same moment.

The way Cas pulled at his hair was painful, but also  _so good_. His grip only twisted tighter as Dean began to bob his head in and out regularly, beginning a wanting pace as his finger curled inside, stroking, searching. Looking for that one spot he knew would send Cas over the edge.

But before he could, the euphoria of it all caught up a little too quickly to Cas's drunken mindset. Still moaning, he stumbled, nearly tripping on his own shoes. It forced Dean to abruptly stop, to hold him steady.

"No, don't stop," Cas breathed out, Dean glancing up at him through his own somewhat blurred sight. "Don't…"

Dean managed to latch onto one concrete idea.

"Bedroom," he issued, pushing himself back into standing and blinking at the way the room seemed to waver around him. Cas didn't object to the idea, instead struggling to stumble out of his shoes before kicking both them and his pants out of the way. He was still wearing his black dress socks as he grabbed Dean's wrist and started to tug him across the apartment. They pushed their way through the darkness, somehow managing to get by the door before Cas was turning back, grasping at Dean's bare shoulders as the backs of his thighs collided with the edge of his mattress.

Another sloppy, pulling kiss, Dean running his hands up Cas's waist before, with a growl, shoving him back. Cas fell easily to the bed, catching himself just barely as he glanced up. As he watched, Dean undoing the front of his dress pants before pushing them down with his boxers. He quickly shucked off his shoes and socks as well, naked and exposed and  _needing_  as he returned to Cas. He laid his hands heavily on his shoulders, lips meeting once again.

But their patience waned.

"Lube," Dean managed to mutter out between breaths, Cas nodding quickly before pulling himself further up onto the bed. He turned a moment later, crawling across the sheets to his end table before pulling open the top drawer.

In the same moment, gaze following Cas's every movement even in the shadows of evening, Dean found himself quite taken with the sight, more of that shocking, heavy blood dropping between his legs as he pulled himself up onto the bed as well. As he took his best friend by the ankles and yanked him back, Cas's breath cut short as he slipped down into the sheets.

Lube in hand, Cas tried to turn over, but Dean wouldn't let him. Instead, strong hands finding the backs of Cas's shoulders, he leaned down and laid is lips along his spine, kissing down across the skin as he pulled himself up between Cas's legs.

Not opposed to the position, and too drunk to care had he been, Cas clumsily handed the lube back, allowing it to fall to the bed before he reached forward and took hold of the edge of the mattress. He closed his eyes, giving into himself fully and ignoring any red flags his brain tried to throw his way. Instead, feeling the way Dean hovered behind him, he stretched back, pushing his hips into the air and against the generous arousal Dean had waiting there. Breathing heavy, he kept up the pressure until Dean was bowed back against him, forced to fall back some from his shoulders as Cas rubbed that length wantonly between his cheeks. Against the same entrance that Dean had been so apt to explore previously.

The hint was apparent however, Dean groaning some before dragging his hand down against the sheets in search of the bottle sitting there. He found it quickly enough, the pump pressed as he coated his fingers. As he turned his attention back to Cas, leaning away before slipping his hand from the base of his best friend's spine. Down, until he was pushing his way inside Cas yet again, a moan echoing from both of them as he did.

The intentions were there, the sensations passing between them ones desired for so long that, in their haze of euphoria and alcohol, they began to lose themselves in it. Dean knew he was prepping Cas, his eyes fluttering closed as he felt through the unfamiliar territory. As Cas pushed up into him until there were two fingers, and then three. Until the minutes they were together fused into something between time and action, Dean curling his fingers against that tight embrace until Cas gasped, the sound pulling him from his dizzy revere.

How long had he wanted this? Had he wanted Cas? Too long. Too long to wait any longer. His fingers retreated, the scene hazy before him as he pulled himself up, one hand against Cas's back at the other found the lube again. Because he should use it. Because that was what he was grappling to remember to do. He glazed his length quickly, his movements hasty and desperate, blundering maybe, but he didn't care. Finding Cas's stretched entrance, he held himself steady, teasing his tip against the waiting flesh before slowly pushing his way in. He was measured, lip bitten beneath his teeth as he felt that tightness flex around his shaft. As Cas gasped a moan out before him, spine bowing down into a slight curve as he met Dean's advances.

For a moment, Dean was struck by it all, one hand clawing at that beautifully bent back as his other wrapped around to the front of Cas's thigh. He held himself still, breathing labored, buried completely inside his best friend. Warm and wet and tight, folded together in a way he'd been dreaming about for years. Been kept up at night imagining.

Telling himself over and over again that it'd never happen.

But then Cas was moving against him, eager and needing and not wanting to stop to think – to fully realize what was happening. He pulled himself forward and then slid back, breath hissing as he initiated the motion he'd begged for in the shadows if his apartment, alone and sick for it. Pushing back until he couldn't any more, until he was full and whole for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Because it didn't matter who else he'd done this with, he told himself it couldn't compare. That the reason was Dean.

Dean, who's lagging thoughts finally caught up, his hips beginning to work in tandem with Cas's pleading, thrusting forward first with a gradual tempo that quickly sped up as he felt the way that tight flesh enveloped him. Pulled him in, hand gripping tighter to Cas until his driving became harsh, his thighs slapping skin as he plunged himself into Cas. Over and over again, convinced he was going deeper every time, if only because he was so overcome with the sensation of it all. Of the dizzying heat that ran up his whole body every time he thrust inside Cas, electrifying him even as the room seemed to turn in on itself. He kept his anchor with Cas, the repeated, harsh, heavy plunge the only thing keeping him from falling with the room.

And, God, did Cas want it. His face was buried in the sheets, his knuckles straining as he gripped at the edge of the mattress. As he tried to hold out against the pressure, which was building and building with every push Dean filled him with. Until his moans became whimpers, which gasped out of him every time Dean thrust himself back in. Every time he was taken, driven closer and closer until his whimpers were cries, his whole body tense as his toes curled. As every bit of the haziness was cleared away by the heat that washed through him. Out of him, released as he screamed out.

As he called to him. "Dean!" he panted. "Oh god,  _Dean_!"

The sound of that voice – out of control and pleading – was enough to finish Dean too, who'd never heard such a sound come from Cas's throat before. Maybe it was the drinking, or the waiting, or both, but he just couldn't hold out any longer. Clumsy, and with a lack of finesse both of them would have been ashamed of had their heads been clearer, they rode out their dying passion together, Dean holding Cas up as best he could when the other threatened to collapse away from him.

With weakened thrusts, Dean felt the last of his control seep away, his shaking arms no longer strong enough to support the man beneath him. Sinking down, he was laying gracelessly atop that other trembling body, both their weakness growing with each second. As any strength they might have had was washed away in a pool of alcohol and things they hadn't yet realized they might regret.

It wasn't until sunlight was shining in through the windows that Cas even began to stir. And even then it took him the greater portion of an hour to even consciously consider waking up.

He was warm, and there was something heavy draped across his back. Part of him – the part wanting to shy away from the throbbing in his head – suggested that he simply snuggle a little closer to the warmth and go back to sleep. But other sensations assaulted him before he could agree, namely one that eventually reasoned out the fact that he was naked. Being the constantly cold person that he was, Cas rationalized that something was wrong, all of this coming down on him in the course of only a few seconds.

Because there was no way he'd go to bed in only a pair of socks.

Lashes finally fluttering, Cas peered out into the glaring room, blinking as the light of the morning burned into his retinas. Yet, despite his weakness, he did manage to make out the heavy silhouette beside him, only inches away. What was draped over him was an arm, he soon realized, both of them chest down on the bed, Cas trapped only somewhat in the other man's hold.

Other man…

Dean.

Like a flood, it all came rushing back. The drinking, the argument, sex. It was blurry, and disjointed, but the pieces were there.

He'd had sex with Dean.

The realization was like a bucket of ice water being dropped over his head. Suddenly, nothing else mattered but this fact. Not his nakedness or his hangover. Nothing. Part of him was nauseous, only encouraged by the sad state of his stomach as panic began to flutter up through his chest.

Not knowing what else he could do, he tried to – as delicately as he could – slip out from under Dean's arm. As soon as he was free, he bolted from the bed, rocking some as he stood. His stomach threatened to upend him, but he steadied himself, taking a moment before finally glancing back at his bed.

It was hard to believe, really, that the man lying naked on his sheets was Dean. So unbelievable, in fact, that terror began to layer itself over Cas's hangover. Stumbling back, he gulped, his chest beginning to shake as he forced his eyes from the scene. He tripped out into the living room, managing to find the arm of the couch before he gingerly sat himself down in the cushions.

For a moment, breath sputtering, Cas stared at the wall. Yet as the final puzzle piece finally nestled itself into his brain, he found his lips beginning to quiver, his whole world tipping as though it was falling down around him.

Because he'd had sex with Dean. Drunken, misguided, unplanned sex with his best friend, who he'd been in love with for ten years.

A friendship that he could feel slipping through his fingers like beach sand.

The back of his hand came up to his lips, a shaking gasp leaving his throat as a parched dryness coated his throat. Because all the liquid had gone to his eyes, tears coming faster than he'd ever felt them before. Cas wasn't the type to cry but rarely. Yet there was no turning back from this, no covering it up and pretending it hadn't happened.

He'd ruined  _everything_.

Because Dean was going to wake up soon. He was going remember what they'd done and he was going to  _leave_. Be gone as though it were a one-night stand he hadn't intended to happen. Only it'd be worse because as he walked out the door, he'd be ripping Cas's heart with him. Straight, recently divorced Dean Winchester would regret this for the rest of his life, and he'd never speak to Cas ever again.

If there was a deal breaker, this was it. They couldn't be friends after this. One stupid, idiotic night and Cas had lost even the small part of Dean he'd had at all.

It was over.

Dean would  _hate_  him.

He tried to stay quiet, to hush his own sobbing, but not even his hand clamped over his mouth could hide the sniffing. He was bent over, more and more tears streaking down his cheeks. He tried to stop them, but they wouldn't quit.

Because his whole chest hurt, and his heart was breaking, and Dean would be gone forever.

"Cas?" Dean had begun to awaken shortly after the bed had been vacated. He was rubbing his arm over his eyes as he exited the bedroom, yawning as he slowly dragged his feet over the hardwood. It wasn't until he was digging the heel of his hand into his eyes, trying to wake up, that he finally heard it. The strangled breathing. Gaze cracking open, he found the source of it quickly enough.

Cas, bent over on his couch, his hand fastened around his lips like he was trying to hold something back. Blinking, Dean was awake quick enough after that, it taking him a second longer to realize that Cas was crying.

Cas, who never cried. Who was always the steady one. Who put up with Dean's outbursts like they were nothing and didn't even get emotional when they watched sappy animal movies where the dogs died at the end.

Cas was  _sobbing_.

"Cas?!" Yeah, Dean was a bit freaked out by the scene. "Are you alright?!" He was at the side of the couch within seconds, reaching out to Cas's bare shoulder just as those blue eyes flicked up to him.

Blue eyes that went wide before Cas physically shied away, scooting across the couch until he was on the other side, as far away from Dean as the furniture would allow. Teeth gritted, hand falling away, Cas stared up at him for only a second before his whole expression was overcome by pain, another sob wracking his whole body as he looked away again.

Dean didn't know what to do. He wasn't stupid however – the fact that Cas was trying to stay away from him telling him a lot about what he should be suspecting. It was kind of like getting stabbed in the heart, that kind of rejection, and it left Dean gaping, helpless as to what to say. He'd considered that maybe Cas might not want what he did, and he hadn't intended to broach the subject with drunken sex, but he also hadn't anticipated that Cas would… cry about it.

What did that even mean? God, he must have really fucked up.

"Cas, I'm sorry," Dean offered weakly, gulping as he tried vainly to fix whatever damage he'd done. "Please, I'm sorry. About last night and- and I don't…" He didn't know what to say. Cas wasn't helping, continuing to quiver with sobs, and Dean was soon sinking down on the couch cushion beside him, remaining as close to the arm of the furniture as he could.

"Cas, c'mon…" Dean could feel his own panic beginning to settle in, choking him. "I get maybe you don't feel that way about me, but this doesn't have to mean anything if you don't-"

"What?" Cas finally managed to squeak out, his bloodshot eyes flicking up to Dean abruptly. "What are you saying?"

"I'm trying to…" Dean huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he forced himself to deal with this. "Look," his own voice shook, "the reason I didn't tell you about the divorce is because I didn't… I didn't want things to get messy between us." Which was in no way reassuring to Cas, who was pretty positive he didn't like where this was going. "I knew that if you were there, with me, when I was… dealing with that, I'd… I'd do something I would have regretted. Something I wasn't ready to do until things between me and Lisa were over."

Cas still wasn't comprehending, his chest continually shaking.

"I wanted to tell you," Dean muttered, staring down at the couch. "For a long time I've wanted to…" He took a scared, shaking breath. "Sam told you I fell for someone else, that that was why I got divorced. I-I…" he tried to prepare himself as much as he could. "I'm… It's… It's you."

Finally he glanced back up at Cas. "I'm in love with  _you_."

His admission wasn't followed with a response, Cas quite positive that he hadn't even heard right. Because what he thought he was hearing was impossible. Yet no matter how many times he ran it through his head, it came out the same. But that didn't make any sense.

"W-what?" Cas stuttered, not knowing what he should even do.

"Don't make me say it again," Dean griped, fingering the couch apprehensively. "God dammit, Cas, it's taken me five years to get this far. Just tell me whether you're interested or not." He hadn't meant to sound sharp, but these things weren't easy to admit to.

"Five…" Cas's sobbing had finally come to a stop, as if it'd been shocked out of him. "You're in… five years?"

"Yes!" Dean snapped. "I didn't realize it at first, but… And then I had to figure out what to do. Whether to stay with Lisa or tell you. But I couldn't do that if I was still with her because that wouldn't be fair to either of you, so I had to choose. I… I had to figure out whether it was worth the risk."

"Risk?"

"Whether I was willing to throw everything away just to… to tell you." Let alone actually be with his best friend.

"Tell me…" Cas murmured, quite positive by that point that he had to be dreaming. Dean should be angry. And regretful. And marching out the door. Not sitting beside him, twiddling his thumbs like a teenager who'd just asked somebody to the prom.

"Jesus Christ, will you actually say something that means something?" Dean barked. "Instead of just staring at me? You're killing me over here!"

"You…" Cas shook his head. "You're in love with me?  _Me_?"

"Yes, okay?! Yes!"

It had to sink in eventually. It took some moments, but eventually the words finally began to make sense. But it was too much, to thorough a whiplash, and before Cas could even consider what to do, his tears were back. Even as he tried to fight them.

"Cas, no, don't… why are you crying? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything and-"

"Dean…" Cas tried to get his low, weakened voice past his quivering lips. "I've been… I've been in love with you since the day we m-met."

Cas's eyes squinted closed again, Dean's mouth hanging open as he took in those words – as their implications rolled around in his head, his whole chest tightening as he considered. As he remembered all those times he'd tried to set Cas up, wondering why he wasn't interested. All those times him and Lisa had been together in front of him, and then when he'd asked Cas to stand with him at his wedding.

Yet he'd never figured it out. Everything he'd put his best friend through and never once had he even fathomed.

Ten years, and all Cas had ever done was give him that soft smile.

Hiding everything.

"Cas," Dean's voice came out broken, his hand trembling as he reached out. He didn't know what to say, not after hearing such an admission. It was so heavy, and important. How was he supposed to make up for everything Cas had gone through because of it? "I'm so sorry…"

Hesitantly, and uncertain how Cas was going to react, Dean slid across the leather couch cushions. His hands wavered slightly, eventually landing on Cas's shoulders. His best friend didn't make an active attempt to move away, so Dean pulled him in closer. He buried his face in that dark hair, and breathed in the familiar scent of fresh rain on dewy leaves – a description he'd once used in a poem when he'd been particularly desperate and alone one night weeks before.

But how many more of those nights had Cas spent in misery, shelled up and feeling like he couldn't say anything? It'd been bad enough for Dean, the anxiety and longing. For ten years Cas had been plagued by such things, hoping, only to have that dashed time and again. Dean supposed he understood why it was all so upsetting. He'd be even worse had he been sentenced to a similar situation. That Cas had made it this long…

"I wish you'd told me," Dean murmured against his hair, holding tighter as he did. "You should have said something. Were you ever going to?"

The idea of being silenced their whole lives nauseated Dean, and he felt even sicker when Cas's head shook against his shoulder, whole body still trembling.

"Cas…"

"I c-couldn't tell you," he whispered. "I couldn't lose you." His hands gripped at Dean's bare chest, still trembling despite how he tried to hold on. As if afraid Dean was going to disappear and the fragile cliff on which they were perched would crumble away.

"So you were just…" Dean pushed him back slightly, taking Cas's face in his hands when those blue eyes wouldn't look up at him. "You were just going to go on like this?"

"I tried to get over you," Cas finally looked up at him, "but I…" More tears. They wouldn't stop.

"Christ…" Dean said it more so to himself than to Cas, allowing his forehead to rest against the other man's as he tried to think of what he could say, or do, that would make this better. That would erase the years of silent want that were now breaking down. Like a great exhale after being stuck underwater for too long. Painful, though relieving it may have been.

"I tried to move on, Dean," Cas choked out. "I tried  _so hard_ …"

"I know," Dean's thumbs softly brushed the skin beneath Cas's eyes, wiping away some of the tears. "But you don't have to try anymore. It's okay. I'm here, and I'm with you." Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Cas's, who could only quiver in response. "And I'm staying."

All day, he stayed. He carried Cas back to the bedroom, and he laid him across the sheets. Draped above, he kissed his way down every inch of his best friend's body. He worshipped Cas the way he should have years before, and he didn't stop until he was certain it was understood just how important it all was. Until Cas's cries had turned to screams of ecstasy, and Dean's voice had groaned out his name.

Until the orange beams of afternoon light had come striking in through the blinds, Cas pressed up against Dean's chest, sometimes asleep, sometimes afraid to for fear that it was all a dream.

But every time he woke up, Dean was there. Right beside him.

Because he'd stayed.

Ten years Cas had been in love with Dean, and – finally – Dean loved him too.


	12. A Different Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas's grace was the final ingredient for the spell to cure the Mark, turning him into a human again. But Dean's finally realized what it is he wants out of life, and he's going to make sure Cas knows it.
> 
> Rated K for all audiences.

"That's it?" Dean asked, warily looking at the small vile in Sam's hand. It was no bigger than his pinky finger, and glowed a vague blue in the low lighting of his bedroom. There was a cork in the top, and as Sam sat down on the bed beside him, Dean was sure he saw a kind of white shadow inside it, moving and shifting like smoke. "What was the final ingredient?" His voice was hoarse, tired, and he was fighting the exhaustion that constantly threatened to overwhelm him – resulting in pale, sweaty skin, bloodshot eyes, and shaky breathing.

He didn't know how long he could really keep fighting this curse.

"Something rare, naturally," Sam offered him a small smile. "I'll tell you about it after. First, let's see if this is even going to work." He'd taken Dean's arm, the sleeve already rolled up to reveal the Mark. Careful not to drop the vile, he uncorked it and plugged the top with his thumb before lowering it to the scar.

It was a spell of sorts, one they'd gotten after thoroughly threatening Metatron. The rare ingredients they'd haggled through Rowena and Crowley, who'd wanted a fair share of the bunker's stores. It's been a considerable loss, but if this worked, Sam knew it will have been worth it. He just hoped he'd put the spell together right. Sure, Sam had dabbled in witchcraft, but he was no master by any means.

The only snag they'd come across was the last ingredient of the spell, which Cas had told Sam he'd translate from enochian once they had everything else ready. He'd come through on his word, and now it was the moment of truth.

"Ready?" Sam asked, catching his older brother's tired green eyes.

"I guess so," Dean replied, a kind of fighting hope apparent in his expression. Because he wanted this to work, but had given up already and was afraid to be optimistic.

Taking a deep breath, Sam steadied his own hands before slightly tipping the vile. Removing his thumb, he hovered it just above the Mark on Dean's arm, careful to make sure the first thing the liquid touched was that damnable scar.

It sunk into the crevices of the Mark, seeming drawn to its outline before the glowing blue settled. They watched it, breath held tight and eyes intent. At first, nothing happened – it just sat. Which was disconcerting and disappointing to both. They'd expected something flashy, something painful. Anything but this calm coolness Dean could feel sinking slowly into his arm.

Like an icepack without the freezer burn.

But then, right before their eyes, the concoction suddenly seeped away. Like water eaten up by dried, desperate dirt, it simply vanished, a vague outline of the mark left for only a second before that too disappeared.

With little in the way of pomp and circumstance, Dean's arm was smooth again.

"Is-is that it?" Sam stuttered, the fact that the mark was gone a slow realization after how calmly it'd seemingly been destroyed. Like by a simple balm or healing cream. "Is it really gone?"

"I…" Dean pulled his arm back from Sam, gingerly touching the recovered skin. But, more importantly than any scar, it was the weight he searched for. The heavy dread that had perpetuated his whole body since Cain had given him the curse. He was almost afraid to believe it was gone – that within the moment, whatever Sam had given him would fail and it'd all come rushing back. But even as they both waited in the expectant silence, nothing happened. Dean remained empty of all the urges and needs, his shoulders gradually dropping as his body hunched atop the bed.

In relief, perhaps, his throat drying some as he swallowed the wetness that threatened his eyes.

"I just… it seems too easy," he choked out, Sam watching as he gripped at the skin where the Mark had been. "What did you do?" he glanced up at Sam. "What was the final ingredient."

Sam's lips pursed. "Well, that's it," he muttered quietly. "It  _wasn't_  easy."

Though the mark was seemingly gone and Dean was better for it, he still managed to narrow his eyes in suspicion, not liking where this was going.

"What did you do, Sam," he asked almost harshly.

"It wasn't something I did," he replied, looking away. "We just got lucky is all. Lucky that we had someone willing to give us the final ingredient." Dean waited in tight-lipped silence, only registering in the back of his thoughts how much better his focus was without the constant impulses the Mark had run through him.

"The last thing we needed was…" Sam knew this wasn't going to go over well – that Dean was going to be angry. "It was an angel's grace. That was the last thing we needed." The one part of the spell Cas had refused to reveal until it was needed. Because he'd known Dean wouldn't have allowed that, and that given the thought, Sam would have stopped him too.

Dean was clearly affected by the news, though the conglomerate of emotions that ran across his face were hard to distinguish. Anger, grief, regret. Appreciation maybe, but it was soiled with guilt and frustration. Other things that Sam knew he shouldn't be privy to seeing.

"That idiot," Dean finally managed to mutter out. "He knew as soon as he saw that spell and he didn't say anything."

"It was his choice," Sam offered quietly. "He knew what he was doing when he did it."

"And you just let him?" Dean had looked at Sam accusingly. "After all he went through to get his grace back?" And how happy Dean had known he was to have it. To be himself again, powerful and in control. No longer sick and helpless and weak. They all knew how important Cas's grace was to him – it was the essence of being an angel.

His soul – everything.

"I told him he didn't have to," Sam explained, not having to say that his objections had only been halfhearted. After all, he wasn't about to stop Cas from doing anything if it meant Dean would be alright.

"Where is he? Is he okay?" Because an angel removing their own grace was a painful, terrible experience, or so they'd learned from Anna all those years ago.

"I think so. He didn't let me in the room when he did it. I didn't… hear him scream or anything, but that could just be Cas being Cas." Not voicing his pain even when it was excruciating. "It really took it out of him though. I had to practically carry him to the couch, and he passed out as soon as I got him there."

"You kept an eye on him though, right?" Dean asked, suddenly rigid and tense. "Checked his breathing, made sure-"

"Yes, Dean," Sam smiled weakly. "He's alive. And breathing normally." For a human. Because he was mortal. Again.

Dean's guilt hit him even harder. It was strange, really, because the Mark was gone. He was healed, yet there was no celebratory atmosphere. He was tired, and Sam was tired. They'd all been suffering because of this, and more than anything they just wanted to sleep. A quiet kind of solution. Perhaps because getting to it had cost them all so much.

"I'm going to…" Dean wanted to say "go check on him," but he knew that Sam would have kept a vigilant eye. That Cas was fine. But still, he just…

An angel have given up their grace for him. Not had it stolen, not wanted it gone. Given up their power, their immortality. Their wings. All that he was Cas had given up, and that was such a huge gift that Dean wasn't even sure how to respond. If he'd known, he would have tried to stop it. He would have put up a fight even if Cas had been determined anyway. But without his knowing, it'd happened, and he couldn't just let that go.

"I need to go talk to him," he finally settled on, pushing himself to his feet. He staggered slightly, Sam reaching out as if to steady him, but Dean waved him off. Going for the door, he headed out into the dimly lit hall of the bunker, dragging his fatigued body into the open until he'd come upon the general living room. The back of the old couch faced him, but he could see the very ends of Cas's black shoed feet sticking over the arm.

Taking a deep breath, he rounded the sofa, hesitating for only a moment before carefully sitting down on the coffee table in front of it.

As Sam had said, Cas was asleep. Dean could see the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, his hands pulled up under his head as he laid his cheek on the side of a pillow. His mouth hung open slightly – a very human pose – and Dean almost couldn't stand to look at him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, jaw tightening, before he pushed away everything that wanted to hold him back and reached out to Cas. Gently, he placed his hand on his shoulder and shook.

Despite any exhaustion, Cas's eyes gradually pulled open, their blue slits flicking back and forth before they focused on Dean. As if surged from any remaining fatigue, he sat up, unstable and clumsy and… human.

"Dean," he muttered out, looking him up and down. "Did… did it work? Did Sam finish the spell?"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean murmured out, his gaze falling to the floor as his fingers gripped at his knees almost nervously. "He did it. It worked."

"Really?!" The enthusiasm in Cas's deep voice was apparent, Dean betting that if he dared to look up, he'd see one of those rare, broad smiles. But he didn't – wasn't deserving of such an expression. "That's wonderful," Cas continued. "I'm so glad."

"Cas…" Dean shook his head, gulping. "Your grace is gone." After everything he'd done to get it back – all he'd gone through – just to give it up again. It didn't seem right, or fair. "If I'd known what it took to-"

"Don't, Dean," Cas wasn't even going to let him try, voice deep and commanding. "I chose to give up my grace for the spell. You knowing wouldn't have made a difference."

"Cas, you just got your grace back," Dean did look up at him then, trying to hide the guilty helplessness on his face and knowing he was failing. "Now you're… you're human again." Dean gestured to him shortly, as if that should signify something. "And it's-"

"Stop," Cas's tone was still possessing that firm resolve, yet was also gentler somehow. "It was my choice. If the spell had required my life, Dean, I would have given it."

"How can you say that?" Dean blurted before he could even stop himself, knowing he was creeping up on things he'd previously been ignoring. But facing his reality with the Mark – its slow, torturous progression – had made him see things a bit differently. Want things, maybe. Perhaps it'd given him a kind of courage he hadn't had before.

"Dean, you're my friend," Cas's gaze poured with honesty. "I'd do anything for you."

"Cas, you're a human again."

"And I'd rather live half a human life with you healthy than watch an eternity of you in misery," Cas admitted, the words too easy. Too sincere. More than Dean felt he deserved. But there was something else that coiled inside him as they hit his ears. A yearning that he'd never allowed himself to acknowledge before.

His whole chest shook as the word erupted from his throat.

"Why?"

Simple, but so important.

"Dean…" Cas leaned forward, his hand landing gingerly on Dean's knee. His eyebrows had furrowed together, eyes flitting back and forth searchingly. "You know why. You're… important to me. I'd do anything for you." Confusion momentarily crossed his face. "You know that."

Dean's lips quivered, eyes closing yet again as he forced himself to accept the words. To not push them aside like he had such things every day his whole life prior. Because it was moments like this that made him want to live, right? That justified what Cas had done, if that was even possible.

That hand squeezed Dean's knee, drawing their stares together once again as Cas's lips parted, "I need you."

Like a great wave had passed through him, the breath that left Dean's lungs seemed to surge outward, carrying with it all the insecurities and doubts he hadn't known had arisen since he'd started contemplating Cas. Since he'd begun entertaining that, maybe, what he wanted wasn't what he'd thought he did. That it'd been sitting in front of him – patient, constant, and always there – the whole time. He'd just had to get his priorities straight.

Teeth gritted, Dean forced himself through his hesitation. He reached out and allowed his fingers to trail along Cas's cheek, the dark stubble there both rough and familiar. Those blue eyes filled with curiosity, but Dean didn't allow him to question. He took the dive, his other hand falling over Cas's on his knee as he leaned forward.

As he closed the distance between them, his lips on Cas's for the first time as he closed his eyes and let the moment take him.

No matter the outcome.

He wasn't forceful however, or demanding. Rather, his inability to voice what he wanted had led to the action, his motion more of a question than anything else. The fact that Cas wasn't responding did eventually spur him to pull away, for once completely open and unable to hide as he stared at Cas's wide blue eyes.

Cas, who was blinking, appearing utterly and totally shocked by what Dean had just done.

"Is…" Dean knew he sounded like a nervous teenager, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Such things, he'd learned, weren't worth caring about. "Is that okay?"

Clearly Cas was trying to comprehend, his hand still tight on Dean's knee. Almost to the point of pain, but such was ignored. Rather, nervousness skittering all over him, Dean waited – each second worse than the last.

Until, finally, Cas seemed to comprehend.

Because he leaned forward. He repeated Dean's action, though with far more intent and force. Their lips came together again, Dean gasping into Cas's mouth as he returned the touch. As both his hands travelled to Cas's cheeks, holding him firm as fingers gripped at Dean's own shirt. Tightly – hungrily.

Behind them, looming in the doorway, Sam smiled but said nothing. Instead, he turned and headed back to his own room, any final words left to die in the ears of those who'd spoken them.

"I'd have given up eternity a thousand times if I'd known I could get this from you," Cas murmured, their breath hot on each others lips as their foreheads came together.

"You can have it every day for the rest of our lives if you want," Dean's words wisped, his heart pounding as Cas's hands twisted his shirt desperately. "Just promise you'll stay with me." Because Dean knew that was what he wanted now. Maybe he couldn't have the dream life with the big house and the dog and the white picket fence, but this was good enough. He thought he might even stand a chance at happiness, so long as he knew Cas would be there.

"I've always been with you," their noses brushed as Cas spoke, "because the only time I've known what it is to really exist is when I'm with you. You  _are_  my life, Dean; you're my whole world." Cheesy, romantic, sure, but it was exactly what Dean needed to hear.

Everything he'd decided he wanted.


	13. A Bigger Picture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Irritating, smartass, beautiful Dean Winchester joins Cas on the ferris wheel – quite to Cas's chagrin until it's realized that Dean is afraid of heights.
> 
> Rated T for swearing.

He'd wanted to be alone. Or at least, that was what Cas was telling himself as one Dean Winchester climbed up the metal steps and slid into the seat beside him. Trying to ignore the irritation that threatened to tick away at his patience, Cas turned to look in the opposite direction, the clerk who manned the ferris wheel clicking the safety bar before them into place and backing away.

All Cas had wanted was to get to the top and look down on the fair. It was one of the few joys he got at such gatherings, and he liked to think it gave him perspective in a life that was hard to find such. A calming sort of practice so to speak, and the closest he could get to the sky being away at college. He had a pilot's license, but the university wasn't exactly down with the idea of him parking his plane in the parking lot, so it had to stay with his parents – three whole hours away.

Instead of that simple joy however, he was stuck with know-it-all Dean Winchester. The one person that, in all the Lit classes Cas had taken since he'd started college two years prior, he couldn't stand. They clearly had the same English major as they ended up in classes together all the time, and it didn't seem to matter what Cas had to say, Dean always had to comment. Always had to try and one-up him on every analysis, every answer, every single thing he said. It'd gotten to the point where Cas had started the same game back, which left them to struggle for dominance while their profs watched on in brow-raised silence.

Truly, Cas despised no one else more.

"Hey, Cas," Dean greeted a moment after they were locked in, Cas pursing his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. Dean was holding into the safety bar, his hands tight as he stared down at the metal foothold where their feet sat.

"Hello, Dean," Cas replied flatly.

"Sorry about invadin' your seat," he offered Cas a bright smile – the smarminess Cas was sure he saw there barely tolerable. "My brother and his girlfriend are here too and I figured they'd want a seat to themselves." As he spoke, the ferris wheel slowly began to move forward, the two heading on their way up and then pausing a second later to allow the next seat to be filled. "They're back there," Dean motioned behind them.

"How thoughtful of you," Cas replied shortly, looking to the side and trying to ignore Dean's eyes on him.

"You always ride the ferris wheel alone?"

"Yes, I try to," he hadn't hidden the sharpness in his tone.

"Oh, uh… again, sorry then." Dean cleared his throat, finally looking away as the wheel began to turn again. Soon they were a little over a quarter of the way up, Cas thankful that the seats had nearly been filled and they'd be done with the stopping and starting. It was unfortunate, but Cas really just wanted the whole experience to be over. He really, really couldn't stand Dean Winchester. All smiles and freckles and stupid, pretty green eyes. Ugh, the guy drove him absolutely insane.

"So, uh," Dean tried again at conversation, Cas not turning to look at him, "I haven't been on a ferris wheel since I was, like, five years old. They go pretty high, huh?" This comment did finally draw Cas's attention, eyes narrowing as he twitched them to take in Dean's profile. He was looking down again, hands still firmly placed on the safety bar.

"Not really," Cas deadpanned. "I have a pilot's license, so this doesn't even compare."

"Oh, yeah, this probably doesn't bother you at all then." They started to move again, Cas swearing he saw Dean flinch as he wheel went round. And as they crept toward the top, he stopped looking down, instead deterring his gaze to the darkening sky.

"Are you…?" Cas couldn't help the humor that lined his words. "Are you afraid of heights?"

"What? No," Dean said almost too quickly, finally looking over at Cas again. He wasn't convincing however, his posture stiff and severe.

"If you're afraid of heights," the ferris wheel was coming back down the other side now, showing no signs of slowing. Apparently the ride had finally begun, "then why would you get on the ferris wheel?"

"I'm not afraid of heights, alright?" Dean hissed as they passed the bottom and headed back up. "Will you just shut up?"

Raising his hands in mock defense, Cas allowed his irritation to simmer as he looked away again. As they were swiftly carried again to the top, Cas eyeing the couple in front of them – Dean's brother and his girlfriend. They were cuddled up together, Cas almost wanting to vomit at the cheesy romance of it all.

Before he could stick out his tongue in disgust however, the ferris wheel came to an abrupt halt. So abrupt, in fact, that their seat rocked, Dean splaying his arms on the safety bar as his eyes went wide. Sighing, Cas looked down, trying to pinpoint what would cause such a hold up.

"Looks like some kid threw up," he mentioned coldly.

"Oh, so they'll… they'll probably have everyone get off before they clean it up, huh," Dean murmured, Cas glancing over at him with a cocked eyebrow. Yes, he was getting a kick out of this. The normally cocky, snarky, smartass Dean Winchester was uneasy and out of his element. Cas took his joys where he could.

"No. They'll probably clean it up." They were paused at the very top of the wheel, above everyone else. "Don't want that dripping on everyone."

"Oh," Dean gulped, "right." He looked up then, closing his eyes above pursed lips. Scoffing a laugh, Cas resituated himself in the seat, watching as Dean flinched beside him at the slight way they had rocked.

Cas moved again.

"Can you please stop?"

"I'm just trying to get comfortable," Cas tried to sound offended, Dean looking over at him with a rather pale expression. "Calm down."

He moved again.

"Cas,  _please_."

"Does it really bother you that much?" A slight smile pulled on one side of Cas's lips as he pushed his arms up and took hold of the safety bar. "Nothing's going to happen." Bending over the bar, he leaned his weight into it, rocking them a little further back.

"Jesus fucking Christ, please stop." Dean's knuckles were white as he gripped the bar.

"Stop what?" Cas then leaned back, pushing the seat forward. Dean was closing his eyes again, so Cas continued the motion. Rocking them again, more severely than before.

"Please, just stop," Dean said through gritted teeth.

"What?" Cas knew he sounded far too innocent, his rocking of the seat having gotten quite severe. Those below would no doubt be able to see them moving some, in any case. "This?" He leaned back heavily, Dean's hand slipping from the safety bar up to the one that was holding up the seat. He was crowded up against the side, like that would actually do something to save him were they to fall.

"Yes, that." His voice had lost some of the confident deepness, that it'd gone up an octave or two pleasing Cas beyond belief.

"Oh, this?" He really rocked them then, to the point where their butts actually slid on the metal seats and then slammed them back again.

"Oh my God." Dean had his eyes closed once more, now gripping at the sidebars as his heels dug into the footrest.

Their butts slid again, Cas continually putting his weight into the motion. Except that, with Dean so hunched on one side, their balance was totally off, the swing finally catching. The smoothness went lopsided, the metal creaking slightly as the seat swiveled from side to side, jostling them both as it tipped unevenly.

Dean looked like he was going to be sick. "Cas, please,  _please_  stop. Please. You're right, okay? I'm afraid of heights, so quit rocking it, okay?"

"You should face your fears," Cas taunted, once again leaning into the bar as their swinging evened out. "I'm trying to help you."

Another deep rock.

"Cas,  _ **please**_ ," Dean finally looked at him again, the desperation in his voice drawing Cas's attention. Despite the kick he'd been getting out of the whole situation, the look on Dean's face really did sober him. Those tight lips, and his heavy breathing. But mostly it was the pleading in his eyes. The wide way in which they stared, and what Cas could have sworn was a ring of unshed tears at their bases.

He'd never felt guilt drop on him so quickly in his life.

Sitting back, he stopped, the seat coming to a gradual halt. Dean released a somewhat relieved breath, but it wasn't in any way alleviating his fears. Rather, now that Cas had stirred him up, he was more on edge than he'd be able to calm down from.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Cas offered quietly, the fact that he'd been so abusively taking advantage of Dean's weakness hitting him hard. Normally he wasn't the tormenting type – all through high school he'd been on the receiving end. But perhaps that was why he'd so readily jumped at the chance to bother Dean. Dean, who'd probably been one of those jock types that beat up on him, and who wasn't getting his just deserts for it. Who was smart and attentive and bested Cas at the only passion he'd ever been proud of.

"Really, I hadn't realized how afraid you were," he didn't dare move now, afraid to knock the seat off balance. "I was just… messing around."

"You think that's funny?" Dean shot out accusingly, Cas actually flinching away from the words. "Glad you find making fun of people so hilarious. I thought you were better than that." It was harsh, what he said, and likely a result of the heat of the moment, but the damage was still done. Honestly, Cas had never thought he'd be the one to be a bully, but maybe anyone was capable of nastiness.

"Dean, I'm sorry," he tried again.

"Yeah, whatever." Still Dean clung to the side of the seat. "Are they almost done down there?"

Looking over the edge, Cas tried to get a good look, but it was hard to tell. Mostly it was just apparent that the clerks were still working on the seat. Whoever had gotten sick must have really done it well.

"They're still cleaning," Cas offered sheepishly, Dean growling in frustration. "If you're this terrified of heights, why did you-"

"Because I would have been fine if you hadn't rocked the stupid seat," he snapped. Which was probably true. Now he was all anxious and nerved up, and Cas was aware that it really was his fault.

Trying to make up for it, Cas scooted some – closer to the center. Which shook it, naturally, Dean glancing over at him accusingly.

"If you come more to the center of the seat, it'll move less," he explained, Dean's suspicion still apparent in his narrowed gaze. After a few moments of silence however, with Cas trying to look as apologetic as possible, his expression finally seemed to drop of some of its defensiveness – if only because he was desperate. As if his hands were heavy clamps, he carefully moved them from the sidebars to the safety one in front of them again before sliding closer to Cas.

The seat shifted, naturally, and – spurred by panic – Dean scooted faster. Until he was right up next to Cas, who pursed his lips but didn't move. Even as their legs rubbed and their shoulders bumped. Instead, holding the safety bar as well, Cas took on the pressure with little complaint.

"How long does it take to clean a fuckin' seat?" Dean muttered under his breath, Cas casting him a sympathetic eye. One dean caught and caused a light flush to grace his freckled cheeks. "Sorry…"

"It's fine," Cas assured sincerely. "I'm the one who was being a jerk."

Dean gulped. "You know, I get the feeling you don't like me very much." He was staring straight at Cas as he spoke, probably looking for any distraction he could get from the scenery around them.

"Uh, well," Cas cleared his throat. "I do think you're kind of annoying." Might as well be honest.

Dean laughed, though it didn't sound all that convincing.

"Really annoying, actually," Cas corrected, hoping to distract Dean, if nothing else. "Like, when I walk into class and see you, my day immediately gets worse." Dean really did laugh then, a smile creasing his lips momentarily. "As in, I actually think I might hate you."

"Wow, alright then," Dean raised his eyebrows in understanding. Yet, in the same moment, the ferris wheel twitched, as if preparing to move, and Dean's hand shot out. It landed atop Cas's, holding tight even as Cas watched in surprise. If it'd been a mistake however, Dean didn't correct it. He held tighter, fingers wrapping around Cas's nearly to the point of pain.

"If it means anything," Dean started tightly as the wheel began to slowly move back, "whenever I see you in one of my classes, I'm glad." Cas furrowed his eyebrows. "You're the only one who ever seems to know, or care, about what they're talking about."

Blinking, it took Cas a moment to really register what Dean had said, his lips parting some as the wheel came to a stop again, much to Dean's whimpering dismay. They were letting people off, which would mean a lot of stopping and starting again.

"But…" Cas finally found words, "you're always contradicting everything I say."

"Yeah," Dean gave him a sideways smile. "And you can always defend yourself. I thought that… that you had as much fun with it as I did." It was Dean's turn to look sheepish.

Fun? Cas had never thought of it that way. Mostly he'd just thought Dean enjoyed getting him riled up, which he supposed he'd just admitted he did. But it hadn't occurred to Cas that he was getting the same in return. Granted, Cas did sometimes go out of his way to argue with Dean, but the other man was always wearing that cocky grin and leaning back in his chair with that ridiculously lazy posture. Like none of it meant anything at all.

"I'll stop, if you really find it that irritating."

"No," Cas was surprised at the haste in which the word jumped to his tongue. "I mean, how else am I supposed to validate any of my points if no one is going to argue with me about them?" Then  _he_ was just the… know-it-all.

Maybe him and Dean had more in common than he'd originally thought.

"Love to hate me then?" Dean smiled fully, his hand tightening on Cas's as the wheel jolted into motion.

"Mmm…" Cas's face flushed, his eyes darting down at Dean's hand on his. "Maybe I don't hate you as much as I thought…" He said it quietly, unsure himself what he was even admitting to.

"I am pretty adorable." Finally Dean's cocky smile had returned, Cas flicking his focus back up to him with a disapproving frown. Before anything else could be added however, their seat came rolling around to the bottom, Dean's hand slipping quickly from Cas's as the clerk came and released the safety bar.

Like he'd been jabbed with a heated poker, Dean flew from the seat. He was clattering down to the ground shortly after, Cas slower to rise as he stretched his hand. There were red marks from where Dean had been gripping it, the skin sore from being pinched against the safety bar. Still, however, Cas felt himself contemplating it all, his stomach surging some as he made his way down the steps and out the gate surrounding the ferris wheel.

Dean was standing a few feet beyond him, looking more and more himself as he paced on the pavement. Clearly, he was ecstatic to be on the ground again.

Cas, however, wasn't sure what to think. Because Dean, with his arrogant smirks and smart comments, had held his hand. But he'd also been panicked and afraid, and Cas was pretty sure that accounted for most of it. Which was why he was quickly pushing away any thoughts on how pretty Dean really was, and how cute his freckles were, and that he had bowlegs that never went together no matter how straight he stood.

"Man, I'm glad that's over," Dean huffed out as Cas went to walk by him, not too close and not too far. He paused for only a moment at Dean's words, trying to think of something appropriate to respond with.

All he came up with, however, was, "yeah," before he awkwardly rubbed his arm, fully aware that Dean was looking at him. "Well, I'm gonna go," he met those green eyes for only a moment. "See you on Monday, Dean." Turning, he directed his attention across the midway, leaving Dean behind and refusing to look back.

He wasn't expecting to hear that voice calling after him, and so almost jumped when it did.

"Hey, Cas, wait!" Dean came jogging up beside him, Cas's footsteps halting as he glanced up, searching Dean's face rather self-consciously. "So, I mean, are you here alone?"

"I was with some friends, but they bailed," he admitted.

"Oh, so… so you're alone, now, though."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Do you wanna, you know, hang out or… or whatever?" Dean rubbed the back of his neck, as though nervous, and Cas squinted his eyes curiously.

"I thought you were with your brother and his girlfriend?" Who'd just come off the ferris wheel and were quite caught up with each other.

"I don't think they want me around, to be honest," Dean glanced to them only quickly. "Kinda third wheeling it."

"Oh, right," Cas shrugged, easily seeing where this was coming from. "Yeah, it's fine. I was just gonna go walk around, maybe go to the animal mall or something." Just in case Dean decided he really wasn't that interested.

"Sounds awesome," Dean smiled. "Lead the way."

Pursing his lips, Cas turned and continued in the direction he'd been going previously, Dean at his side. Dean, who said nothing for a moment, looking thoughtfully at Cas, who looked back only quickly before deciding he'd better not.

Which was when, fidgeting for just a second, Dean reached out and ran his fingers down along the back of Cas's wrist. The touch was startling, Cas's eyes popping as he faltered a step. But then Dean was lightly linking their fingers together, Cas so surprised that he couldn't prevent himself from stopping entirely. He turned to face Dean, their hands still held together.

"Really?" His eyebrows were furrowed, as if he couldn't quite believe what had just happened.

"Uh, well, sure?" Dean hadn't expected such a direct response, his fingers loosening some – uncertain. "I mean, you're really smart, and hot, and, I dunno… I mean, if you're not into that, then that's fine." His fingers began to slip away.

"No!" Cas grabbed him back, taking his hand and refusing to let it go. "I just… wouldn't have thought…" He shook his head, ignoring the butterflies that had burst in his stomach and instead tried to pull at any semblance of control he could. "I'm into it."

He smiled – just barely. Not in the big way Dean did, and the other man responded with his overly bright grin.

"You don't hate me then?"

No, Cas was beginning to wonder if the whole problem had been that he felt the exact opposite.

Instead, feeling daring after their experience on the ferris wheel, Cas leaned up and hovered his lips just beside Dean's ear, who'd sucked in a quick breath at the sudden movement.

"You know what'd be a lot more fun than the animal mall?" Cas whispered, not giving Dean the time to answer. "Making out behind the game booths."

Such propositions weren't normally within range of Cas's vocabulary, which left him blushing as he leaned away again, Dean blinking at him for a moment before finally finding a response.

Grin going devious, he gripped Cas's hand a little tighter, taking a step closer. "I think I like where this is going," he muttered, Cas finally allowing a full-blown smile to pull at his lips.

The next moment, they were speeding their way between the carnival goers, sneaking behind the booths and disappearing into the shadows – smiling and laughing the whole way.


	14. This Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas comforts Dean about the Mark.
> 
> Rated K for general audiences

"I don't know how much more of this I can take." The words were broken, choked even, and Cas glanced up as soon as they hit his ears. The two of them were sitting in the central planning room of the bunker, Sam back in he library. As he always seemed to be these days—constantly researching, yet always coming up empty-handed.

"What?" Cas asked, more so out of curiosity than because he hadn't heard. They sat beside one another at the table, large volumes of books opened before them. Any desperate attempts they could make at finding a cure for the Mark. No matter how farfetched, they were reading, looking for any clues they could—clues that still had yet to prove their own existence.

" _This_ ," Dean repeated quietly, voice strained. Taking in his entirety with a simple flick of his eyes, Cas watched the hard way in which he swallowed, and how his hands balled into fists atop the table. He was pale, and there were bags hanging below his bloodshot eyes. Even as Cas watched, his lips quivered slightly. "I'm so tired of it."

"Dean," Cas leaned instinctively closer to him, those green eyes flitting his way.

"I just want it to be over, Cas," Dean's voice was becoming raspier with each words—as though he was only just holding himself together. Which, really, was truer than any of them liked to admit.

To be frank, Cas had been waiting for something like this to happen. It was part of the reason why he'd been sticking so close to Dean lately. Because it was as though with every day that wore on, the worse he looked. The more stressed; thinner. And Cas knew both Sam and Dean well enough to decide when it was time they really needed support. Personal support.

Because humans weren't made for this kind of stress, or this kind of magic. The stress lines in Dean's face were familiar, and the way his soul warped with the pressure. It reminded Cas of some years prior, when they'd been dealing with the apocalypse. That day in the hospital when Dean had broken down still rang fresh in Cas's mind. They hadn't been as close then, but Cas would never forget that moment. Just the mere defeat in Dean's words, and how he'd lain in that hospital bed, worn and out of options.

These sorts of things—these kinds of curses—they weren't meant for humans. Humans, who were supposed to lead simple lives full of hope and easy happiness. They weren't supposed to carry the burden of angels, not the way both Sam and Dean had. And Cas had seen this building, a progression he hadn't known to monitor before.

Dean and Sam didn't break down often, didn't fall victim that way or express it as they should, but sometimes it became too much. Sometimes they were just so assaulted and tired, and shattered. Dean was getting there—had been climbing that ladder for a while—and Cas had seen it. Which was why he'd stuck to him like glue. Both him and Sam. So that when Dean finally did reach the emotional breaking point, one of them would be there.

One of them would catch him.

"I just want it to  _end_."

"I know," Cas reached out immediately, laying a hand on Dean's upper arm. Which only seemed to send him further down, eyes closing as Cas watched the way his lashes dampened some. "We'll find a way, I swear it," his words were soft. "You just need to keep fighting."

"I  _can't_ ," Dean's whole frame slumped in the chair. "I…" His head was shaking, his breath hitching as he pulled his hand up to hold his forehead. "I'm gonna lose this one, Cas."

"No, you're not," though his words were soft, they were also firm. "Neither Sam nor I will allow that. You're not alone, Dean." Cas's hand flexed on his arm, the other resting atop the table. "You've been through so much worse than this. The Mark is not your end, of that I'm certain."

"It's too much, Cas," Dean's tone was as dry as sandpaper, his eyes fluttering open again as he took in Cas's gaze. The first tear streaked down his cheek, catching his breath, which clattered in his chest. " _It's too heavy_."

"There is no weight, Dean, that is too heavy for you to bear," Cas offered, trying to sound as encouraging as possible. "And should it begin to break your back, Sam and I are here to hold it with you. Do not fight this alone. We're here, and we'll get you through this." He pursed his lips, hand still tight on Dean's arm. "I know 'faith' is a little desired belief here, and I share in your sentiments, but if there's anyone I've found I can believe in, it's you and Sam. Have faith in  _us_ , Dean.

"We'll get you through this. We'll fix it. I promise."

No, it wasn't the solution, and it didn't make anything Dean was dealing with any less of a burden. But to battle in the darkness of solitude was far bleaker than in the company of others. Even if the fight still seemed like a downhill tumble.

Eyes blinking furiously, Dean's attention fell back to the table. More tears fell and no attempts were made to wipe them away. Rather, after a few more seconds, Dean's expression seemed to warp into one of pain. His lips pulled, and a hollow sigh escaped his throat.

Chin trembling, his hand came quickly up. He laid it over Cas's on the table, gripping desperately. As though it were an anchor holding him in place—stopping him from drowning. Knuckles white, fingers straining, he clung to it, a whole sob wracking his body as he did.

And Cas, who was so much more sensitive than he used to be, gulped and allowed his free hand to drop atop Dean's, a dual layer of support. His hold was steady, was all encompassing, and it allowed Dean to break down further.

But it was alright. Because Cas would prop him up even when the waves threatened to drown them both. Even as the world and their hopes crumbled into dust, Cas would stand by him.

He knew Dean needed him, so he'd be there. Through it all, even the regrets, he'd stay. Be it an eternity of cursed shadows, or a single lifetime of renewed sunlight, Cas would come when he was called—when Dean needed him.

Forever and always.


	15. Taking the Horse to Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire lets slip the fact that Cas can sense a person's longing, which shocks and horrifies Dean.
> 
> Rated T for language

"Better directions would have been beneficial," Cas drawled as he bowed out of the passenger side of the Impala. Dean rose from the other side, Claire standing at the head of the hood in her typical mood of haughty petulance.

"I knew you'd find me," she smiled. "I was thinking about you, so I figured it wouldn't be too difficult."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows.

"That's no excuse," Cas scolded.

"You said it yourself you could sense my 'longing.'" She made air quotes with her fingers. "Why does it matter?"

"Wait, what?" Dean was confused.

"Because it's one thing to know in what direction to head and quite another to navigate the streets that go there." Cas didn't look at Dean as he questioned, instead making a desperate attempt to breeze on past the subject. Unfortunately, governing conversation wasn't one of his greatest strengths.

"Can't you just fly around or something?"

"My wings are no longer functional, as you very well know."

"Hold on, what's this about 'longing?'"

"It's nothing," Cas finally looked to Dean. Because people who are lying don't look others in the eyes, right? So he should make a blatant effort to stare at Dean.

"It's something that Angel-Dad here uses to stalk me," Claire rolled her eyes, completely oblivious to the tense expression Cas then threw her way. "I guess I don't have to actually pray to get him to know where I am. If I'm even thinking about him or wanting to see him a little bit, he can find me."

"You can?" Dean looked quickly to Cas, unsure what to make of this news. "Can you do that with everyone?"

"W-well…" Cas's eye darted back and forth nervously. "Generally speaking, yes. If-if someone is thinking about me, or wants me around, it acts as a kind of indirect prayer."

Dean's lips tightened for a moment, as if he was processing this information, and Claire glanced between them curiously.

"You've never mentioned that before," Dean finally managed to mutter out, his tone tight and controlled as he stared the angel down. "You sense that kind of stuff all the time? From anyone?"

"I…" Cas knew where this was going. There was a reason he'd kept it to himself. "Yes. I can't control it. Angels are meant to watch over humans. It's within our responsibility to be open to their needs." Even if past experience showcased a different side of heaven's agenda. "If the angel is… personally familiar with a human, the connection is much stronger."

Dean was running his tongue along the insides of his teeth the whole explanation, looking more and more testy with every second. "And this is something you just decided you'd never mention to me?"

Claire's mouth had fallen open, as if she'd finally begun to realize that this was a serious situation.

"I didn't think it relevant," Cas lied, his attention falling to the ground. "At least, not at first…"

"Not at first," Dean repeated, clearly upset now. He was pale, and his whole face was twisted tight. But mostly it was his eyes that Cas couldn't stand to look at anymore. Because they were horror-stricken as well as betrayed.

"I didn't realize, at first," Cas murmured. "And after I did, I… didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"Wow, thanks," Dean snapped. "Because that makes this whole thing so much better. What the Hell, Cas?"

"You clearly weren't intent on telling me," Cas hissed, finally glancing back up at him. "And if that was what you preferred, then I assumed it was better not to mention it. It's an angel's responsibility to keep that kind of thing confidential."

"Not from the person who's fucking thinking it!" Dean leaned forward some, his anger slowly transforming into panic.

"It wouldn't have made a difference even if you knew," Cas tried to reason. "There are certain things, like prayers, that humans can control, and others that they can't. Longing isn't one of those things."

"It doesn't matter!" Dean's bottom lip was shaking. "I can't- why- God dammit!" Dean actually paced back a step then, his anger fully taken over by distress. Which Cas could clearly feel wafting off of him, if only because of the feelings it was so closely connected to. It was clear Dean was trying his best to control something Cas knew he couldn't. The waves of longing fluctuated, became only stronger in Dean's attempts to quell them, which made Cas feel even worse. "This is bullshit!" Dean finally turned back on him, finger pointed. "You crossed the line!"

"There's nothing I could do about it!" Cas defended, his own temper rising some. Claire took a step back from them warily. "Being able to sense those things is just a fact of who I am."

"You should have told me you were doing it!"

"Why? What would that have changed?"

"That's not the point!" They were almost shouting now, thankful the parking lot outside the abandoned warehouse was empty. "You lied!"

"I didn't!" Cas's deep voice resonated through the empty space. "I merely… didn't say anything." His last words dwindled away however.

"That's not any different!"

"You didn't want me to know!"

"Because that makes this whole thing  _so_  much better," Dean's voice was bitter. "You know what? Screw you, Cas!" Lips still trembling, Dean cast one last long look at the angel before turning back to the car. Ducking inside the driver's seat, he was soon starting the engine and winging out of the parking spot. Engine punched, he was screeching out onto the road, Cas and Claire watching without making a move.

They were silent for a moment—while Dean's car vanished down the road—and it was only when Claire cleared her throat that Cas finally looked her way.

"Castiel…" she appeared profoundly apologetic. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," he replied quietly, eyes once again going to the road. "I should have told him. I just… didn't know how."

"What… what exactly is he so upset about?" She sounded cautious in asking, and as he considered the question, Cas tried to reason it out himself.

None of it was new—what he sensed from Dean. He wasn't quite sure when the longing had become clearly apparent to him, or when it'd changed from what Castiel learned was friendship into something else. It'd all happened during his own confusion over what was right and what wasn't, and like a foggy line, Dean's intents had faded in and out, growing stronger all the time until finally it'd become this constant barrage of what Cas could only describe as pining. Dean pined, "longed," for him constantly. It hadn't always been twenty-four seven, but sometime after the leviathan incident, Cas had begun to take note of the consistency. And ever since it'd only gotten stronger. Until the Mark had seemingly made Dean desperate. To the point where, like that very day, he'd willingly volunteered to take a short road trip with Cas.

They'd only been going because Claire had mentioned being low on money, and needing help (in the bratty way she would admit to such things), and Cas had been more than capable of taking such a trip on his own. But ever since his grace had been restored, Dean had stuck to him like glue. Well, as glue-like as Dean could be. Always sitting beside him, even at a distance. Always taking him with—"Hey Cas, wanna go to the store with me?"—or tagging along whenever any menial chore was to be done.

Almost like he was afraid Cas was going to up and fly away at any moment, and he was trying to get as much time in with the angel as possible. He never voiced any objections to Cas potentially leaving, never had, but every time Cas said something about heading out for a few hours, or even a night, Dean's longing became tenfold before he volunteered to tag along, always with some excuse like "needing to get away from the bunker" and "having to run his own errands."

Cas didn't know what to do with him, honestly. He wanted to tell Dean that he had no intention of leaving him. That the only reason he would do so was if they got a lead on some way to cure the Mark (or if he had to meet Claire or something similar). He had the feeling, however, that Dean's paranoia didn't stem from such "small" ideas. Rather, Cas was beginning to figure that, since he'd found his grace, Dean feared he'd return to Heaven.

He'd considered trying to reassure Dean somehow, tell him that his top priority then was to get Dean better, but had been afraid he'd give away too much. Dean never responded well to such "emotional" confessions, so Cas had been left with the simple claim of "we'll find a way" whenever he thought Dean could handle it.

But now Dean knew more than Cas had intended, and it'd folded out just as he'd feared.

"He's upset," Cas finally answered, "because his feelings of longing are stronger than he thinks they should be." This eloquent comment caused Claire to furrow her eyebrows initially, but then realization seemed to dawn across her face.

"He's in love with you?"

Cas cringed at her frank reference.

"I suppose that's the English word to describe the idea." Personally, Cas didn't feel the term did the feeling justice. In all his knowledge of language, Cas had yet to find a word or phrase that accurately described what throbbed from Dean constantly. Really, Cas was both humbled and flattered that such a miracle of an emotion was directed at him, and sometimes it was so powerful, he barely knew how to even think about it.

Sometimes his  _own_  response to it was so overwhelming that he could hardly think.

"Wow…" Claire blinked her wide eyes thoughtfully. "Well… what are you gonna do about it?"

"What do you mean?" Cas caught her eyes again.

"What do you mean 'what do you mean?'" she practically snapped. "Are you in love with him too?"

"What?"

"Look, I'm not in Dean Winchester's fan club, that's for sure," she admitted easily, "but I know you think pretty highly of him. So, do you feel the same way about him or don't you?"

"I don't… see how that's relevant."

She stared at him like he was a complete idiot, a human expression Cas was quite familiar with. "How is it  _not_  relevant?"

"Because, no matter how Dean feels about me, he's made it quite clear he has no intention of acting on such things. And if that's what's best for him, then that's what I want. It matters little whether I reciprocate his feelings or not."

Claire was glaring at him by the end of his speech. "You're so stupid sometimes."

"Excuse me?"

"Just because he doesn't act on it doesn't mean he doesn't want you." Her words caused redness to crawl up Cas's cheeks—a very human expression. "It just means he's scared to tell you. And now you've really screwed things up."

" _You_  screwed them up," he accused childishly.

"No, no, no," she waggled her finger back and forth. "You're the one that was going on and on about how you didn't say anything because you didn't want to make him feel bad. If that isn't a tactless rejection, then I'm Brittney Spears."

Cas cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"Do you even realize what just happened?" she continued. "You basically just told him that you don't feel the same way and that you didn't say anything because you didn't want to have to deal with it. You rejected him. Like, right now. That's what you did."

"No I didn't."

"Yeah, Clueless, you did," she crossed her arms over her chest. "No wonder he drove off. He's probably… crying his eyes out somewhere, you jerk."

"I doubt that," though Cas wasn't wholly convinced anymore. "I didn't intend to reject him." Now Cas's nerves were getting in a bunch, his vessel's stomach tying in knots. "He's just never showed any interest in pursuing anything."

"Yeah, usually fear of rejection will do that," she countered. "But I'm actually betting that you're too out of it to notice if he was going after you to begin with." Cas furrowed his eyebrows in offense. "Hello, you said you could sense his longing. If he wasn't interested, then he'd wouldn't be 'longing' after you."

"Just because one feels one way, doesn't mean-"

"Oh please," she rolled her eyes. "That's a load of crap. Especially in this situation. He so wants you and is just afraid to tell you. Or was."

"How do you know?"

"Because, Dumstiel, you're not exactly the easiest person to stay close to. You're an angel, and like you said all those years ago, you serve Heaven. Because that wouldn't be a terrifying thing to have feelings for."

"I'm not a 'thing,'" Cas pouted slightly. "Besides, Dean and I share a very close bond. He knows I'd do anything for him, be anywhere he needed me to be. I've told him this on multiple occasions. I always come when he calls."

"Well ya didn't this time," Claire had her haughty, know-it-all look about her again. "Is he 'longing' for you now?"

"I- of course. Feelings can't simply be erased."

"Case and point."

"What?"

"You said it yourself that you can tell when someone wants you around, right? Clearly, Dean wants you 'around.' Yet here you are, talking to me about how he doesn't."

"That's not the same thing. Dean always wants me around."

" _Really_?" her voice was flat, shoulders slumped. Silence fell between them, Cas blinking as he ran through their conversation. As he tried to come to the point that Claire was trying to make.

And when it fell on him like a ton of bricks, she knew it had by his shocked expression.

"Dean always wants me around…"

"You really are a moron," she shook her head. "Not that I'm encouraging this. You are in my Dad's body and that's… whatever. But yes, glad you've finally figured it out."

"But then why wouldn't he say anything?" Cas tried not to sound too frantic.

"Because admitting that kind of stuff is really scary," she stated. "Because there's all these feelings and it hurts really bad when they're rejected. Because you're an angel and he's some crazy guy that likes to kill people."

"He doesn't like to kill people."

"It doesn't matter. Like I said before, the fact is, he realized that you know how he feels and then you kicked him to the curb."

"I'd never do that! Dean is my most cherished friend! I'd do anything for him!"

"Sorry, Kid, but you just did. Like, brutally. Like, ripped his heart out of his chest level of rejection."

"It was an accident!"

She shrugged. "So, do you feel the same way about him then?"

"I…" Cas considered the question for a moment. Though he'd realized how Dean felt, he'd never entertained the notion much further. Dean was his best friend, the one person among all of humanity that he treasured most. Of course he loved Dean. It was because of Dean that he knew how to love in the first place. He'd taught him so much, and they'd been through Hell and back together. "Of course I feel the same way about him. He's… everything to me."

Without Dean, he didn't know what he'd do.

Claire sighed. "You're so helpless without me," she decided. "C'mon, we need to find a car to steal." Cas clearly didn't understand what she was implying, far too distraught about Dean to put two and two together. "Unless you want to run after him."

"Ah! Yes! We need a car."

Finding a car suitable wasn't that difficult. And though Cas didn't know much about starting stolen vehicles, what he lacked in prowess, Claire more than made up for. With him in the diver's seat and his companion beside him, they headed off in the direction Dean had gone, Cas trying to do his best to navigate the roads in the right direction.

"So, he can't be far," Claire deduced, poking away at her phone despite how Cas pushed the speedometer far over the legal limit. "What are you gonna say to him?"

"What?"

"When we catch him, what are you gonna say?"

It was a valid question. "I'll just tell him that I feel the same way he does."

"Wow, how romantic."

"Do you have a better idea?" He was actually asking quite sincerely. He had limited experience when it came to things of this nature, and never had he confessed to being in love. It  _was_  rather terrifying, as Claire had reasoned, and his whole chest was fluttering in anticipation.

It was only Dean's constant longing that reassured him. A reassurance, he realized, that Dean had never had.

"I think you should walk on up and lay one on him," she smiled deviously at the suggestion, which Cas completely failed to notice.

"Lay what on him?"

"A kiss!" She cackled.

Cas pursed his lips.

Claire wasn't much help for the remainder of the trip. She kept making the whole thing into a joke, which Cas didn't appreciate in the least. Yet no matter how many disapproving glares he tossed at her, she just kept going. Thankfully, it didn't take them long to catch up with the Impala. Dean hadn't detoured far off the main highway, and soon Cas saw the familiar black sheen slipping out from beneath the shade of some trees. Dean had pulled over at a small, walking park, Cas pulling their stolen vehicle up beside Baby as he looked around for any sign of Dean.

He knew he was close—he could sense as much—but Dean's angel warding didn't allow for a precise location.

"You go get him, Tiger," Claire teased as he exited the car, his thoughts hardly registering he as he began to look around the Impala for any sign of Dean. There was none however, and his gut eventually led him down the walking path and into the canopy of trees. Shaded from the sun, he kept up a good pace, probably walking half a mile before he was forced to pause.

Before he saw a bench nestled between two oaks, the bent back of a large man hunched away from him.

Cas tried to keep himself collected.

"Dean?"

The name coming from between his lips startled them both, Cas standing still behind the bench as Dean whipped quickly around to look at him. Those green eyes were wide, and Cas was sure they looked redder than usual around their edges. But he didn't have too long to focus on that. Because, within the moment, Dean was on his feet, scowling as he looked Cas up and down.

"What do you want?" he spat.

"We need to talk, Dean."

"I don't have anything to say to you."

"We both know that's not true."

Dean didn't appreciate that particular comment.

"Fuck off, Cas." He was rounding the bench, as if to stomp off, but Cas was faster. He stepped in front of him, a snarl ripping at Dean's lips when he was forced to come to a stop.

But Cas didn't know what to say. He'd been running options through his head the whole drive, but the words had slipped from his mind as quickly as they'd come, or he was instead being assaulted by the snarky retorts Claire had given to all his ideas. Until he was a gaping disaster, Dean's glare getting harder and harder by the second.

And then Dean was pushing by him, rounding him to get away, and Cas panicked.

Reaching out, he grabbed Dean by the shoulders. He halted his march, stared into those green eyes for only a moment, and was slamming his lips into Dean's before he even realized what was happening.

Cas wasn't a gifted kisser—hadn't had enough practice at it—but he understood the general process. And he knew that, usually, the other person involved was supposed to reciprocate. Yet even as Dean failed to do so, he kept himself firmly in place, trying to get across to the other man all the things he hadn't been able to say. He moved his lips on Dean's, brows furrowed, eyes closed.

And for all the lifetimes he'd lived, that short, fleeting moment seemed longer than all of it—each of the few seconds knocking against his entire existence like a star blinking out. One by one, seeming just as heavy and painful.

Like what Dean must have felt before he'd jumped in his car and fled.

Cas wasn't required to breathe. Inside his vessel, it'd become a habit—if only to blend in better with humanity. Which was why the kiss didn't end until Dean, shocked and blinking and red-faced, gasped and pulled away.

Their lips were swollen, eyes equally wide as Cas's flitted open. Their faces were still dangerously close, Dean staring down his nose at Cas's lips, as if unsure what to make of what had just happened. His breathing was heavy, his green eyes eventually twitching up to meet Cas's.

And it was then, as if he'd barely been sensitive to it before, that Cas was assaulted by Dean's feelings toward him. He'd thought the longing previously had been intense, but it was nothing compared to this. It nearly knocked him off his feet, how passionately Dean's feelings for him were unleashed. Like this whole time, Dean had been doing his best to reel them back, hold them in, and Cas had only been registering what little run off had managed to escape.

Cas knew that one of the many rights humans had been given naturally was the ability to love. To love their friends, their family, spouses and children. That they had a natural inclination for such that Cas had been forced to slowly learn. Yet, despite how he valued Dean, he'd never felt anything like this before. Not directed at him. Never solely for himself.

It was a gift, he knew. That a human, whose emotions could be as flippant as the wind, could focus so deliberately on him. Could be so encompassing. That of all the billions of people on the globe, Dean had chosen him. A poor excuse of an angel and an even worse human. Yet Dean loved him. Loved him more than Cas could even fully wrap his head around being possible.

Angels weren't meant to be loved. Weren't meant for emotion, as Hannah had once pointed out. Yet Cas  _wanted_  them. Wanted it all too badly to put into words. But it was also so overwhelming. To the point where his limited, still developing emotional spectrum was completely encumbered by what Dean was pushing out at him.

And all within a matter of seconds.

Cas didn't realize his legs were shaking, or that tears—because he never cried—had formed in his eyes, dropping down across his cheeks. He didn't even know he was collapsing until Dean was reaching out to catch him. Because it was all too much. But it was also what he  _wanted_ —what he, an angel, chose to want—and more than what he deserved.

"Cas!" Dean's voice echoed in his head, those certain hands holding him up as he reached out and grappled at Dean's jacket. Holding tight, he gulped back against the heat rising up through his throat, instead taking in that familiar green gaze. Which only pounded everything into him all the harder, a light whimper leaving his lips.

And maybe it was because he'd lost control of his vessel, or because the sheer strength of what Dean projected was so much more powerful than anything he'd ever come up against, but without knowing how he'd gotten there, he was down in the dirt path, legs folded beneath him as Dean gripped at his shoulders.

And then Dean's lips were on his, and everything that he was burst inside him, eyes flashing.

They pulled at each other's mouths, Cas's hands finding their way into Dean's hair, Dean's caressing Cas's jaws. Until they were completely wrapped in one another, Dean hovering over Cas in the dirt. Desperate for air, for more—like desert horses finally finding water.

And the whole time, that thick longing draped itself all around Cas. Like a heavy blanket that smothered him into warmth. That splashed through his sight in visions of green and flashes of white. Dean's soul reached out and grasped at him, Cas desperately grabbing back.

"Dean," Cas's voice escaped him, breath heavy not because he needed to breathe, but because he felt dizzily suffocated by Dean—in all the most profound ways. "I  _need_  you."

Those green eyes widened some before being struck by comprehension.

And then Dean was kissing him again, more ravenously than before.

Because Cas wanted him.

He longed for Dean too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It probably says a lot about me that, while writing the end of this, I actually entertained the thought of "what if Dean's feelings were so overwhelming for Cas that he died of emotional overload!" But then I decided everyone would hate me, so I didn't kill him. Ha!


	16. Tact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas brings up marriage and is surprised when Dean gets angry and stomps off. Proposal fic.
> 
> Rated K for general audience.

"Should we get married?" Cas's question rolled off his tongue long before he had time to think about what he was saying, which wasn't really so unusual for him. He was staring up at the television in the corner of a humdrum convenience store they'd come across following a hunt. On the screen there was a news anchor. She was interviewing two young men, both of whom were clearly happy about their decision to get married despite the controversy circulating the country pertaining to gay marriage.

"What?" Dean was standing beside him, pausing in his search for potato chips.

"Marriage," Cas repeated, finally looking away from the television to take in Dean's furrowed brows. "After an allotted amount of time, human couples normally get married, don't they? Should we get married?"

Dean blinked, silent as he tried to digest what was happening. Sam too, who was on the other side of the aisle, paused to listen in on the conversation. It'd been a year since Dean and Cas had finally gotten together, but their time knowing each other extended so much further that it seemed like much longer. At least to Dean. Cas's idea of time was somewhat skewed, what with him having been an angel and all.

"Are… are you asking me to marry you?" Dean practically balked, still uncertain of what to make of where this conversation was going. "Are you  _proposing_?"

Cas's eyes narrowed, his head cocking to the side curiously. It took him a moment to answer. "I don't understand your question," he finally decided. "I'm only asking if you think it would be proper that we do so in the near future."

Blinking, Dean tried to wrap his head around such a distinction, Sam coming quietly closer. "So…" Dean huffed. "You're asking as, like, a matter of course. Whether we should get married."

"I suppose that's an appropriate evaluation, yes." Cas nodded.

Dean pursed his lips, trying to grapple with how he should be reacting. Ultimately, he decided that irritation was the right way to go.

"Wow, gee Cas, thanks. Glad to know you think our relationship is an obligation." Dean knew that wasn't what Cas had meant, but he couldn't help it that he was bothered. And hurt.

Sam grit his teeth. He knew that Dean really was upset. Normally he wouldn't reference his relationship so publically, even if Cas did. And when Dean rolled his eyes, turned on his heel, and walked away, Sam  _really_  knew Cas had stepped in it.

It wasn't until Dean had left the store that Cas found his voice.

"What did I say?" he looked directly to Sam, who sighed.

"You really do lack tact sometimes, man," Sam leaned his arms over the top of the shelf, expression only somewhat sympathetic. Cas's, however, was dropping continuously. As it often did when Dean stomped away from him in a bad mood. "Look, Dean'll get over it, he always does," because he realized Cas just didn't know any better, "but that was a pretty insensitive way to bring up the subject." Sam almost felt like laughing at the faux pa. Almost.

"I was just asking if he thought we should," Cas's shoulders slumped inside his sweatshirt. "I don't understand why he got angry…"

"Probably because you took all the anticipation out of it," Sam explained, remembering quite clearly the initially excited look that had tripped over his brother's face when he'd initially asked what Cas was doing. "Dean and I…" Sam leaned back, twisting on his heel thoughtfully. "We don't hold much value in a lot of social constructs anymore, you know? We've seen too much. But marriage, that's… that's one of the things that hasn't been ruined for us, you know?"

Cas still held onto that curious expression.

"You and Dean being together, being happy, that's something Dean never thought he could have."

"I'm aware of that."

"Yeah, so, he's kind of allowed himself to live in this fantasy bubble with you. Like, we still hunt or whatever, but then he gets to come home and stay up in bed with you. Like it's normal. He's kind of come to expect this twisted sort of fairytale when it comes to his relationship with you. And usually it works because you're kind of… unintentionally romantic." Most of the time Cas's blundering social eccentricities led to "cute," funny moments that left Dean in a state of soft, adoring eyes and uncontrollable smiles. "But then you sometimes break the spell by being  _too_ rational."

"The spell?"

"Yeah," Sam shrugged. "You know how on Dean's birthday you went to all that trouble and made that pie? And then tried to hide the huge mess in the kitchen that Dean  _did_  find, so you both cleaned it up together?" Sam had then left the bunker upon realizing where things would probably lead. He did that a lot nowadays. "Or that time we had that really bad hunt, so you tried to give Dean a nice date with dinner and a bubble bath and all that shit?" Sometimes it made Sam sick thinking about the cheesiness of it all. "But then you approach  _marriage_  like  _this_?"

"I think I understand what you're saying," Cas's voice was quiet. "I hadn't realized Dean would expect some sort of traditional proposal. I know how important such a decision is for humans, so I thought it'd be right to talk about it first."

"I get that, but seriously, man, if you asked Dean to marry you, do you honestly think he'd say no? He's pretty settled into spending the rest of his life with you. And then you ruin one of those special human traditions by bringing it up the wrong way."

"Well, I could still propose. Does Dean want me to propose? Does Dean want to get married?" Cas was suddenly talking fast.

"Of course he does," Sam's expression softened. "But he'll never allow himself to ask you. You know that. He's too insecure."

"I can still ask him."

"No offense, but you've kind of popped that bubble now."

Lips pursing, Cas practically glared at Sam. Not in a threatening way, but as if to challenge his words. As if to say, " _I can make this right. Just watch me_."

"It's traditional to have a ring, correct?" Cas asked as he walked down the convenience store aisle, Sam following behind at a quick pace.

"Uh, sure, I guess."

"Then I'll get a ring." Cas was looking around, as if the remedy to such a dilemma would actually crop up in that dinky excuse of a store. Sam watched him, aware that getting in Cas's way when he was in "determination mode" would only end in him getting snapped at.

It wasn't until Cas's eyes grew big and he walked pointedly to the front of the store that Sam understood what he was doing.

He couldn't control the smile that started to inch across his face, hand coming up in his attempts to cover it so Cas wouldn't see.

Fishing around in his jean's pockets, Cas eventually pulled out two quarters before sliding them into the slot on the kids' dispenser machine. Pushing in the metal contraption, he then twisted the knob and one of the round, plastic containers came rolling down the shoot. It had a pink top, and as Cas pinched it out of the opening at the base of the machine, Sam caught a flash of green inside.

"That… will never fit him," Sam did chuckle then, and continued to do so when Cas popped the top and pulled out a gaudy, cheap ring with a plastic, gold band and a green rhinestone in the top. Something a little kid would play with.

Cas merely gave him a knowing look however, before then heading up to the front counter of the store. He nodded to the cashier, who'd been watching them (and probably listening) for some time. Pulling a knife from his sweatshirt pocket—one to be used defensively—Cas showed it to the clerk, as if to prove it wasn't a threat, before he placed the ring on the counter.

Taking the blade's sharpened edge, he pressed it into the flimsy plastic of the ring, breaking through it easily. With the circle severed opposite the rhinestone, it was more flexible, Cas replacing his knife in his pocket before pulling the ring up for Sam to see. No, it wouldn't stretch all the way around Dean's finger, but it's snap onto it. Maybe.

"You're really gonna do this?" Sam asked, his smile still playing at his lips. The clerk was smiling too.

"I can fix this." Nodding once, Cas headed for the door, Sam scoffing. Trailing him to the door, he leaned against the frame of the automatic slider, arms crossed as Cas headed through the parking lot toward the Impala. The clerk was beside him, watching as well, but Sam didn't deter her.

Reaching the familiar black car, Cas could see Dean's heavy form through the glass. Tapping on the driver's side window, Cas drew Dean's attention before gesturing for him to come out. Dean scowled and made no move to open the door, so Cas gestured again before reaching down and opening the door himself.

Looking as though he'd been forced, Dean unfolded himself from the car, a look of displeasure still painted across his face as he stared at Cas. His arms were crossed over his chest.

"Look, Cas, I'm not that mad, alright? So whatever you're-"

"Be quiet, Dean, or you'll ruin it," Cas cut in decisively, Dean's eyebrows rising in surprise at Cas's tone. It wasn't unusual, really, for Cas to use such a voice, but it generally meant something important was about to happen. "Sam explained to me why you were angry."

Dean hummed in irritation. "Goddammit."

"And I apologize for being so tactless."

"It's fine. I'm not mad, I-"

"I told you to be quiet."

Dean pursed his lips rebelliously.

"I don't know that I'll ever master human customs, but I do try." He cleared his gravelly voice, Dean's eyes narrowing suspiciously. "And so I'll attempt to make up for what I did." Cas took a deep breath, Dean's eyes widening some as his thoughts zeroed in on the only place this could go.

"Dean Winchester," Cas nodded once before crouching down on one knee, Dean's irritation falling quickly away to be replaced by mortification. They weren't the only ones in the parking lot, not even close, and Cas's motion drew most eyes their way.

"Cas, what are you doing?" Dean hissed through his teeth, reaching down to yank him back up, but Cas shook his hold away.

"I have a question to ask you," Cas clarified, as straight and to the point as ever. Dean could feel his cheeks burning, his eyes scouring the paused parking lot. Everyone was looking at them, some with gapes, others with knowing smiles, and Dean felt all the more embarrassed.

"Shit, Cas, stop." He raised his hand to his forehead, as if he could somehow hide his burning face behind it.

"We've known each other a long time," Cas continued, completely unaffected. "Well, by your standards anyway, but the years we've been together hardly matter to me, how few or how many."

"Christ, Cas," Dean was muttering. "Will you just shut up?  _Oh my god._ " Cas had pulled the plastic, egg-shaped container from his pocket, pink top and all.

"You know that I love you more than anything in the universe," which said a lot when considering that Cas was actually intimately knowledgeable about the universe. "I've loved you since the day we met, even if you don't believe that to be true."

"Cas, shut your fucking mouth,  _please_." Dean hated it most when Cas allowed the world to know how much they meant to each other. It always ended with Dean red-faced and pushing Cas away, which the ex-angel only seemed to find more endearing.

"I know that it's customary in Christian vows to swear to be together until death, but I want to spend the rest of my existence with you, even after we're gone from this earth." Dean, though his breathing was a little choked from the sheer stress of the situation, finally managed to lower his hand to look down. " _You're_  my heaven, Dean," a statement that meant so much more to them than onlookers could possibly know. "You're my everything. And I would be eternally honored, and humbled, if you accepted my proposal."

Cas popped the cheap cap on the plastic container and pulled out the broken ring.

"Dean, beloved, please, will you marry me?"

Cas didn't use pet names. Never. Which was why his proposal meant so much more. He wasn't calling Dean his beloved, but, rather, acknowledging a fact. Which only caused the question to hit Dean that much harder.

He wanted to argue that the whole thing was stupid. There they were—in a convenience store parking lot with the world watching—with Cas on his knee like some disgusting stereotype. He had a stupid plastic ring that had probably cost him fifty cents and it was held between his fingers like it was the most valuable thing he'd ever owned.

Dean had to laugh. He didn't have a choice. Because it was so incredibly ridiculous, and so incredibly Cas. But maybe that was what made it good in the first place.

"Fuck," Dean's shoulders dropped, quite like they did when he was defeated, and a new level of rosiness overcame his cheeks and neck. Cas smiled. "Yeah, okay, I'll marry you. Now will you get up?"

"I need your hand," Cas said stubbornly, still smiling even when Dean growled and snapped his left hand out—like a twitch, or something he knew he couldn't avoid. Slow as ever, and with a grace of situation that Dean clearly didn't possess, Cas took Dean's hand and began to slide the ring onto his finger. It stretched as it went on, and Dean registered it to be tight and uncomfortable as it was set in place, even with the base splayed. But then Cas was gently kissing the back of his hand, as if the whole thing actually meant something, and Dean could feel his breath shaking in his chest.

He could feel himself beginning to give in, like he always did where Cas was concerned.

Finally standing, Cas's smile widened a bit more, Dean's hand still held lightly between his fingers. Dean tried to look disapproving, but it was a failed endeavor. Rather, despite how pathetic he knew it was, he could feel the wetness beginning to form behind his eyes. He tried to blink it away, but it wasn't working.

It didn't make sense, why he was reacting the way he was—a reasoning he often times attributed to being with Cas. Yet still it happened, and like a book, Cas read him. Those blue eyes became understandingly sympathetic and Dean wished they could just look away from one another.

But then Cas was leaning forward, and his lips were on Dean's, and the crowd was clapping and cheering like it was something wonderful. Perhaps it was. Perhaps that was why the soft tears did fall from Dean's eyes, and why Sam was almost choking up watching it, lips shaking. Because "wonderful" wasn't a facet of their lives very often. It was sad, in a way, because there was so much pain, but it made moments like Cas's proposal—no matter how absurd—that much more important.

So instead of trying to hold back the tears, or wipe them away, Dean kissed Cas back. He breathed him in, his hand tightening around Cas's own.

And when they broke apart, he stepped as close to Cas as he could get. He buried his face in the familiar crook of Cas's neck, blinking his damp lashes as he peered out over Cas's shoulder at the parking lot. At Sam, who was wiping away a single tear as he smiled encouragingly, which was a sight that only pushed Dean further over the edge.

But Cas was holding him, and muttering those enochian praises Dean couldn't understand, but still wanted to hear.

And everything was alright.

Everything was perfect.


	17. What Doesn't Change Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have been friends since childhood, that they'd grow up to be a mated pair something everyone expected. But when Cas doesn't turn out to be the omega everyone thought he'd be, there's a wrench thrown into their plans. One that proves just how unpredictable life can really be.
> 
> Rated M for implied sexual content.
> 
> Omegaverse.

Dean and Cas had been best friends practically their whole lives.

It all started when Dean's father got a promotion at the shop and they could finally afford a bigger house. One with four bedrooms as opposed to two. And though he'd only been five, Dean still remembered the first time he'd seen Cas. The other little boy had been out in his yard, rummaging around in the dirt with his stained bee stuffed animal. And Dean, the moving truck backed into their drive, had just been on the verge of hauling a box up to his room. Cas had distracted him however, to the point where he'd actually crossed the street to go introduce himself.

They'd been inseparable ever since.

What was probably the most interesting thing, however, was that everyone  _knew_  they were inseparable. Generally speaking, finding ones mate before having presented was rare, as the smells and sensations afterward were what led them to one another. However, it did happen occasionally, a fact that was suspected, but not addressed. No one ever talked about it, how close Dean and Cas were, but most had their suspicions. Even the two involved had kind of come to the realization, though it'd never come up in conversation between them. As far as both of them were concerned, they were simply happy to be together, anything that would come later not of import.

And while that was a nice thought, those who did know better had been somewhat forced to make preparations. That was the thing about mates—a whole lot more came along with them than the fact on its own. For one, pups. An older, more experienced alpha—or beta, be that as it may—might be able to hold back, but only for a little while. When one was mated, the natural inclination to breed was almost unstoppable, and no one expected teenagers to even have a chance at controlling such a thing. Especially upon going through a first heat.

Watching Dean and Cas together, Mary and John had come to the realization that grandchildren were probably in their near future, and that no amount of discussion or reprimand was likely to alter that. Having accepted the inevitable, they'd begun early in making arrangements, wanting both Dean and Cas to have the same future opportunities—college and the like—despite their biology.

It'd all started when, having come home from school at fourteen, the two boys had been up in Dean's room, working on homework, and John had walked in.

"So I was thinking," he'd started following greetings from the two boys, "that maybe we ought to knock down this wall," he'd tapped the one on the west side, "and connect your room up with the spare." He'd been talking to Dean directly, Cas glancing up from where he'd sat cross-legged in the center of the bed.

"Uh, well, I'm not gonna say no to a bigger room," Dean had replied with his trademark smile, not nearly as aware as Cas.

"While we're at it, probably want to soundproof everything too," John had continued, quite as though it was a nonchalant topic of discussion. "Since we'd be working in here anyway." This had caused a momentary silence, Dean finally managing to catch on before he'd looked over at Cas. Those blue eye had met his, blinking only once in recognition before Dean had turned back to his father.

"Alright…" was all he'd said, John nodding in approval before walking back out.

And though the room had been expanded and soundproofed that year, Cas and Dean had never discussed it. The tradition it foretold, as it were.

Cas had kind of assumed for a long time that when he presented, it'd be as an omega. Like most things concerning Dean, it'd sort of just come to him. Because Dean was about as alpha as one could possibly get. Probably the most inherently alpha boy in their high school, and he hadn't even presented yet. It was only logical then that he, Cas, be an omega, or a beta, but his mother was an omega, so he was likely to be one as well. Dean's mother was also an omega, mated to John, an alpha, and between the two families, omega shame didn't exist. Not like it did for others. So Cas had never quite viewed it as a bad thing.

The other part of the whole equation that led him to the conclusion was that he  _hadn't_  presented yet. Generally speaking, omegas went into their first heats at around thirteen or fourteen. They developed faster and it was likely an inherent genetic defense. Give them time to get control of their hormones before all the alphas around their same age started chasing (not that it fended off older ones, unfortunately). Betas and alphas presented around seventeen or eighteen, which was where Cas found himself at the current, and still without any proof of what he was.

It was another one of those things that simply wasn't talked about however. It was known that, in the rare cases where mates found each other before presenting, the omega half, if there was one (it could be a beta and an alpha), sometimes didn't present until after their alpha. Like their body had already grown accustomed to the presence and was able to hold back until it was certain that need would be fulfilled. Dean hadn't presented as an alpha yet, but Cas assumed that when he did,  _he'd_  hit his first heat.

Which was why all the room preparation was necessary. That was the thing about omegas. When they were mated, it was tradition that they move in with their alphas. Back in the old days, it'd been as much a control issue as it'd been a necessity. However, times had changed after the Omega Liberation Movement. And though it had altered the treatment of omegas—making them into actual people as opposed to property to be bartered off—It hadn't changed the fact that they were what they were.

When omegas were mated, they went into something referred to as stale. Before a mating, their hormones gave off an aroma that attracted alphas and betas, which was logical when considering. However, in natural attempts to dissuade inbreeding, those same smells generally came off as unappealing to family members. Not bad, but tolerable. However, after a mating was initiated, an omega's hormones altered to a protective state, their previous "smell" becoming stale—unappealing—to other alphas and betas, with the exception of their mate. This same process, however, was almost over-corrective. In a state of two negatives, it took the good down to tolerable, but made the tolerable terrible. Cas knew that, once mated, he'd smell completely and utterly repugnant to his siblings and parents when he was in heat.

Which was why omegas went to live with their alphas. For one, they were likely wanted there, and for two, it would avoid the horrific family drama when the omega went into heat and tortured anyone who might happen to be related to them.

Hence, Dean's room had been made to accommodate.

When Dean had turned fifteen, a bathroom had been added. When he'd turned sixteen, he'd gotten a bigger bed. Little by little, John and Mary were getting ready, having long since prepared for the fact that they'd have another addition under their roof sooner or later. Even Sam, Dean's young brother, understood. And like everyone else, said nothing about it. When Dean had turned seventeen, he'd gotten a lot of knowing looks, as had Cas. From everyone—parents, teachers, students, and friends alike.

Seventeen was the age, the marker. And though Dean wasn't in any way late for having not presented yet, everyone was waiting for the rumors of when Cas had moved out and in with the Winchesters. It'd always just been assumed that it'd be that way. Dean was the ultimate alpha—strong build, athletic, captain of all the teams he played on, charismatic. Aggressive at times. And idolized by everyone. Cas, on the other hand, was a little bit different. Not to say he was the stereotypical submissive, meek omega—because he wasn't—but he clearly wasn't as alpha as Dean. He was a bigger guy, like his best friend, but not  _as_  big as he was. Skinnier, but toned in a wiry way. Bigger than most omega males and even some betas and alphas, but still  _not_  Dean. Rather, it was more like he was the omega made for Dean—proportionate to his rather exaggerated alpha traits.

Yet despite any of this speculation, or observing, no one ever said a word. It was somewhat strange actually, because normally omegas were bullied or picked on, at least the males. But not Cas. He'd had Dean's protective halo around him for years. He was the only assumed omega on the swim and soccer team, the only one who sat with the jocks at lunch (aside from their girlfriends and boyfriends), and the only one that could best a good chunk of already presented alphas at their own games. Dean was proud, to say the least. As the top of the pile, he never shied away from bragging about Cas, or telling everyone how great he was at what he did, or from always making sure they sat together at lunch. Because not only was he the lead alpha at the school (whatever such an archaic idea implied), but "his" omega was top too, and that made them quite the power duo. They weren't a couple—had never even touched or spoken to one another in such a way—but still "it" was there.

Or had been, at least, until it hadn't.

Until one Friday morning that Cas been rather under the weather, taking far longer in the bathroom than he'd normally needed to, and missed walking after Dean to school. His parents left him, supposing he'd caught something, and the only one home was his older brother, Gabriel. He attended the local university and didn't have class that morning.

It was a strange kind of sickness, or so Cas was musing as he reached up to wipe the condensation from the bathroom mirror. Like there were rocks in his stomach, ones that felt as though they were pulling lower and lower all the time. He was a little hot, and all his senses seemed exaggerated. The light above his head, the water peeling down his skin from his shower. The smell of his generic shampoo.

He stood, panting, before the mirror for a long time, just staring at his reflection. His vision fuzzed in and out some, and he knew he was sweating. It wasn't until he felt his whole body surge with tightness, with this zero-point-blank need, that he entertained what could be happening.

That, maybe, he was finally going into heat. It was the only thing he could fathom, really, when considering such symptoms. Yet despite how this thought flashed through his head, he was struck a moment later with the fact that it wasn't true. He'd assumed right before the fact, his legs seeming weighted as what felt like his whole being dropped down between his legs. Dropped and pulled tight, a groan leaving his lips as he felt a desire like none he'd ever had before.

Glancing down, he blinked away his fogginess, reaching over with one hand while the other kept him held up on the sink. He gripped the erected length protruding forth, thoughts going cold at what he felt there.

At the knot newly formed and pulsating beneath his hold.

His mind blanked for a moment, too shocked to even register. For a second, he even began to entertain that maybe he'd missed something. Maybe omegas got knots too. But the idea was tossed away as quickly as it'd come, Cas knowing full well that omegas didn't get knots, that only alphas did. Not betas, not omegas. Which meant…

Which meant that he was an alpha.

Through this clouded realization, he met his newly acquired desire with the palm of his hand, pumping it until he was growling for the exploding release he'd never felt before. It burst inside him, sending his stomach into jagged vibrations that only collected back into themselves. Waiting. Spurring him like a quiet pull to go out and hunt. To chase.

For a moment, he was so overwhelmed with the idea that he began to scale through all the potential betas and omegas he knew, scouring for one that would meet his needs. Yet, he was also at the same time confronted with the image of Dean, a thought that chilled and sobered him faster than any release could have.

Because if he was an alpha, and Dean was an alpha…

Then they weren't mates.

It took him a moment to really understand the gravity of this, his naked body sitting on the edge of the tub as he stared blankly across the bathroom. Normally an alpha presenting was celebrated. His parents had always thrown parties and had cake, like a second birthday, for all his older siblings. They likely would have done the same for a beta or omega too, but that wasn't the point. Rather, the  _point_  was that Cas was an alpha, and he  _wasn't_  happy about it.

In fact, despite all the crazy hormones bouncing around inside him, he was sure his heart was breaking.

Everyone knew he was in love with Dean. That Dean was in love with him. But two alphas didn't work. Simply speaking, when Dean got his knot, they'd become unappealing to one another, supposedly.

Dean wasn't his mate.

This realization kept repeating over and over again in Cas's head, seeming to take him over fully even as he rewashed himself and dressed. Unlike a heat, a knotting was easy to recover from, and though he was dazed in shock, he was soon walking into his parents' kitchen, pale and damp and utterly let down.

"Whoa, you really do look like shit," Gabriel said as he walked in. His older brother was at the table, sipping down orange juice. Gabriel – who was easily the smallest in their family, whom Cas towered over by a considerable amount, and who was nonetheless an alpha. Cas wondered, in that moment, how he'd never considered that he might be too. All three of his brothers and sisters—Gabriel, Michael, and Anna—were alphas. He was built like an alpha, acted like one (though in a quieter way than Dean). How had he not considered the obvious?

Why? Because he'd been seeing a different future his whole life. One where Dean dominated him, claimed him, and he was glad of it. He'd dreamed of the day he'd hit his heat and Dean would carry him through to his room, make love to him, breed him. It'd been a constant inside his head as often as he'd never thought about it. A given. Something he'd long accepted there was nothing to be done over.

"I…" he tried to form words through his shock, his hand falling to the counter to steady himself. Gabriel was watching him, a curious furrow to his brow. He gulped. "I presented this morning."

This clearly surprised his brother. He blinked, lips parting slightly as he considered what Cas was saying. Because he clearly wasn't in heat. He wouldn't be standing there if he was.

"Well… congrats," Gabriel offered weakly. "You're a beta then." No one would ever assume he was otherwise—not with Dean.

"I'm not," Cas explained quietly. "I got my knot."

This really did render Gabriel speechless. At least, for a few moments, which was saying a lot for the guy that always had something to say about everything.

"Oh…" he eventually uttered, Cas's eyes trained on the counter. "Well… that's great…" But it wasn't. It really, really wasn't. Odd as it may seem to outsiders, Cas didn't want to be an alpha. What he wanted was Dean, and he'd have taken anything to get him. In that moment, he regretted giving into it so easily. Into just assuming what would happen. He'd let himself fall into this, and now he was looking up through the hole, one that Dean wouldn't topple into with him.

"Yeah, it's perfect," Cas said through his teeth as he pushed himself angrily away from the counter. Grabbing his bag from where it was sitting on the chair across from Gabriel, he didn't even bother with a goodbye as he then headed to the door. He'd never felt worse in his life, and really just didn't want to talk about it.

The walk to school wasn't distracting, but class was better than nothing. He didn't attend lunch; he stayed away from people. Away from Dean. No doubt some of the students could smell something off about him. Something new. And normally a presented alpha would be obvious. They'd be parading through the halls with arrogant smiles and the confidence they were naturally born with. Confidence Cas had always thought he'd  _learned_  from Dean. But maybe that hadn't been the case at all.

His aloof and clearly unhappy mood deterred others. Plus, as an alpha, others were more sensitive to him. No one messed with an alpha in a bad mood, even if they didn't realize he was an alpha.

But by the end of the day, Cas knew Dean was looking for him. Others had mentioned it to him, and he knew he couldn't avoid the subject. They lived across the street from one another. Even if Cas continued to stay away, Dean would be over the moment he got home, demanding to know what was wrong.

Everything was already broken. Might as well keep shattering the pieces.

" _There_  you are!" Dean's voice echoed over the metal bleachers. It was a bit chilly out, light jackets needed, and a breeze fluttered their hair. Beyond, the JV football team was practicing, Dean usually around to help out. Hence Cas had known showing up there would draw his attention. "I've been looking for you all day, and…"

He stopped. Dead in his tracks, he stopped. He blinked, visually – and rudely – sniffing as the wind carried Cas's newfound scent over the bleachers. Because of course Dean would notice. There wasn't any way he couldn't, not with how well they knew each other.

"What happened?" Dean asked a second later, brows pulled together in concerned curiosity. "You… you smell different…"

"I presented," Cas muttered quietly, body curling in on itself as he glanced up at Dean—as if he were ashamed. "This morning. It happened this morning."

"Oh," the word was empty as it left Dean's lips. Cas could see the same thoughts forming there as they had for Gabriel. That he was a beta, that everything was just a little different. But no one in Cas's immediate family were betas, not even in his extended. The gene simply didn't run there.

"I'm not a beta," he snapped out a little too quickly. He didn't have to say any more. Because what other conclusions could there be?

"You're…" Dean's hand reached out, as if to go to him, but faltered a second later. "You're an  _alpha_?" All of a sudden, those silent words they'd never said, assumed gestures they'd always given, came flooding up between them. Like excess baggage that no longer belonged to anyone. "That's… that's not-"

"It is," Cas barked, for the first time in his life aware of how deep his voice was. Deeper than Dean's. Strong. Dominating. How had he not realized? Dean was alpha in every way. He was taller, broader, more approachable, and Cas had always kept stride with him. Something an omega likely wouldn't have been able to do.

Another silence hung between them, one neither knew how to fill. Until, hesitantly, Dean came and sat down beside him. His posture was visibly closed off however—as anyone un-presented in the presence of an alpha should be—and Cas felt all the worse for it.

"Well, that's good," Dean forced a weak smile. "Congratulations, man. You'll be… chasing beta and omega tail in no time." Cas knew Dean was trying to make the best of it all, but he couldn't say he honestly appreciated it. "Hey, and I'll present soon." He dared to elbow Cas in the arm good-humoredly. "We can pick up lowdies together."

Something neither of them had ever done. Ever wanted to do. Because they'd always had each other.

Cas felt sick. And he could tell by Dean's paleness that he was likely feeling it too.

"Yeah," he agreed bitterly. "It'll be great."

He didn't want to do this, to feel this way. Though Dean's words were nice, they were also heart wrenching. If there'd ever been anything between them, it was quickly evaporating. If only by force. And Cas didn't want to watch it, to see the break up for what it was. Forced. Out of their control.

Instead, he pushed himself to his feet and walked away. He didn't say a word, Dean staring after him with confused, lost, beautiful green eyes.

**oOo**

"Honey, what's wrong?" Mary asked as soon as Dean walked in the door. She was sitting on the couch, sewing what looked like a pair of his father's pants, and had seen he son's foul mood as soon as he'd walked in. He didn't reply right away however, instead gritting his teeth as he kicked off his boots, giving his mother enough time to come up through the living room and into the entranceway. "I didn't know the Novak's were having a party today," she commented, having seen how all of Cas's siblings had arrived to celebrate his "special day." "Are you heading over there?"

Because Dean was always invited to Novak events—like part of the family.

"No!" he spat, finally managing to get his left boot off.

"Oh…" Mary didn't quite know how to respond. It sounded like him and Cas were fighting, which would be incredible. They never fought.

"They're celebrating," he continued in irritation. "Cas presented this morning."

"Oh!" Mary said again, it taking her a moment to wrap her head around the concept. Like everyone however, she was assuming one thing when it was quite another. "Then why aren't you-"

"He's an  _alpha_ ," Dean interrupted quite uncharacteristically, which only reiterated how out of sorts he really was. Mary understood immediately however, as anyone would have, which only added to Dean's annoyance. He wasn't a rude person, and had always respected his parents, but in that moment he didn't want to see any of them. Or talk. Or try to make things better.

Instead, he veered around his mother, his larger form doing quite well in dwarfing her before he headed straight up the stairs to his room. He slammed the door, only made all the more bitter by how big the bedroom was, and that it was soundproof like his parents,' and that a bed made for two instead of one sat right out in front of him.

Across the street, he could envision it. Cas's whole family celebrating another one of their  _glorious_  alpha offspring. All four. It wasn't fair. That was what he kept telling himself over and over again. Cas was supposed to be  _his_ —it'd always been that way. It'd been practically set in stone as far as Dean had been concerned. Fathoming his future  _without_  Cas, with some other omega or beta, was nearly impossible. He'd never had to do it before, never wanted to. He  _still_  didn't want to.

But Cas was an alpha, and that left him with little other choice.

He was so angry, and so frustrated, and just…

He just felt terrible.

Dropping his bag to the floor with a graceless thump, he left it as he went over to the bed. Plopping down on the edge, he didn't even bother trying to quell his temper or his thoughts. He was totally convinced this was wrong. Something somewhere had gone awry. Because it didn't matter that Cas was an alpha, Dean could still imagine what his tanned skin would have felt like beneath his palms, and the impression of his dark hair between his fingers. His taste—like honey and cinnamon probably—and how he would have called Dean's name. Like a dependence unable to be kicked. For so many years Dean had been building up to this, waiting and only able to be patient because he'd felt certain it would happen.

And now that was being ripped away—a carpet pulled out from under his feet.

Standing, he began to pace, aware of the way his heavy breathing, his temper, was flooding his whole body. He was hot, and irritated, and was shucking off his jacket a few seconds later. It dropped to the floor carelessly, Dean shaking out his muscled shoulders as the chill of the room swept over him. But still he was sweating, the damp saltiness gathering beneath his shirt. He caught himself in his mirror during one of his paces, seeing the dark spots that were soaking through the fabric before he rather twitchingly reached down and yanked the shirt away.

He threw it across the room.

He just couldn't believe the injustice of it all. Cas, an alpha! Cas, who'd followed him around like a puppy since they were kids! Who was so smart and handsome and kind and didn't belong that way! Everyone knew it! Everyone! How could so many people have been wrong? His own parents for crying out loud!

He hated it. All of it. Keeping his emotions in check was getting more difficult by the second. He wanted Cas. He always had. He'd never even looked at an omega or beta in his life because of Cas. Because his presence had always been so overwhelming and heavy and constant. Like this warmth that forever pressed in on him, even when they were apart.

But now he'd be off with someone else. It was stupid, and ridiculous, and-

-and it was  _so hot_.

Sweat was building all over him, dotting his bare chest and arms, streaking against his jeans until they were sticky and soaking through. The fabric felt constraining, like he couldn't move in it, and before Dean even knew what was happening, he was popping the button and shoving them down. The cool air of the room all over his body was practically nauseating, dizzying, and he nearly fell as the world threatened to tip around him.

Yet still the idea of Cas infected his brain. Cas, Cas, Cas. That was all he could think about. It hurt, but how else was he supposed to react after all this time?

Stumbling to the side, he caught himself on the bed, stripped down to only his boxers as he breathed heavily in and out. Those too were plastered to his body, completely drenched and rubbing up against him like sandpaper. He wanted them gone, off him, completely away.

Quite of their own accord, his hands gripped at the edges of the boxers and pushed them down. Which was when he felt it, his whole body freezing as he did.

Because it wasn't just sweat that was assaulting him, that was leaking through. It'd sunk into the fabric, melting together, but without the thin barrier of clothing to guard against the outside air, the thick liquid seemed to stretch away. He was left open and exposed and vulnerable in places he never thought he would be. Slippery and wet, and  _waiting_.

For a moment, Dean panicked, thinking something was wrong. But then that heat was cascading down through him again, and his whole body was shaking, legs collapsing out from under him. He tried to hold himself up against the bed, an uncontrollable moan leaving his throat as he pushed into the mattress.

As his hips rubbed forward, the friction of the sheets against his erected arousal sending hot throbs through his whole body. But it wasn't enough, or what he wanted. Rather, it was nothing. Nothing compared to the empty longing dragging down his back. Trickling down his thighs from a contracting muscle he'd never thought he'd want stretched.

But it hit him like a landslide, eyes rolling back as he gripped the bed sheets. As his hips rebounded off the mattress in a way that sent his backside sticking out, spine curving. Begging for something that wasn't there. Pleading for it.

It was only after this initial careen, when he had a breath between waves, that Dean really realized what was happening.

He was in heat.

 _He_  was an omega.

Yet even as the realization struck him, he was assaulted again by a terrible need to be penetrated. To be thrust into and filled. He wanted it so badly he couldn't think of anything else, his arms pulling him desperately up onto the bed. He slid across the sheets, thrusting into them only weakly before his legs were pushing his ass into the air again, knees sinking into the cotton beneath. He burrowed his face into the bed, moaning out even louder than before as his body took him over. As it put him into position and called out to anyone close enough to notice. Anyone to come fill him. Mate him. Breed him.

No, not anyone. The only one. The only reason he'd even gone into heat that day in the first place.

Because his alpha was finally ready.

Outside, across the street, and in his own house, Cas was listening to family members trying to be gracious enough to congratulate him. They all knew perfectly well that he wasn't happy about the development, that he was probably the only person any of them had ever met that would have preferred to be an omega over an alpha, and that no amount of cake or back-pats was going to make it any better. More than anything, he simply wanted to curl up in bed and pretend like it'd never happened. Like nothing between him and Dean had changed and he'd wake up the next morning—like he did every Saturday—and meet Dean for morning television. A habit they'd started as children with cartoons.

Dean, who meant so much to him…

"C'mon, smile!" Gabriel tried to be light-hearted about it, the others of his family in the kitchen preparing the cake his mother had brought home. "You'll meet someone else, your real mate." Gabriel had plopped down beside him on the couch. "And you and Dean-o can still be friends."

"You don't understand…" Cas said sullenly, not even bothering to meet his brother's eyes. Instead, he looked to the window, to the house across the street, and wondered what Dean was doing. Dean, who should have been there with him.

"Sure I do," Gabriel tried to reason. "I haven't found my ma-"

"Shut up," Cas hissed all of a sudden, his body tensing as he perked up, still staring out the window. His hands flexed around the fabric of the couch, his breath coming in deep. He took in any stray scents that he could, surprised at his sudden awareness. And abrupt arousal.

"What's up?" Gabriel asked after a moment, but Cas wasn't even sure himself. Instead of answering, he found himself standing, a pull on him that came from somewhere so deep that only the most carnal parts of him could recognize it. Parts of him that functioned outside his mind, outside his thoughts. That took him places he didn't know he needed to go.

Gabriel tried to get his attention, but none of it was to any avail. Cas was headed for the door, not even bothering to mention his retreat as he pushed his way out. Down the steps, across the cobblestone path, out into the street. It was good there were no cars because he didn't look, his sights set on the two-story, yellow house on the other side. One that was as familiar to him as his own, and that held no defenses as he shoved his way through the gate and up across the porch. To the front door, which was unlocked and opened easily to his touch.

Maybe the house was quiet, maybe it wasn't. He didn't know. All he registered as he stepped in was the sound of his heart beating in his ears and that smell.

 _That smell_.

Sweet and spice and mint all mixed to perfection, beckoning him up the stairs.

"Cas!" Mary said in alarm as she rounded her way to the stairs. She'd jumped, nearly dropping the load of laundry in her hands. Cas hardly noticed her however, and didn't even bother with acknowledgments. Rather, quiet and creeping and totally silent, he hunted his way up the first step, his hand falling ever so lightly to the banister. Mary watched him the whole way, her lips parting some at the feral fashion in which he was hunched, and how he audibly sniffed the air. Searching. And as his eyes flicked over her only quickly, she saw how black they were, the only blue left a mere ring around the outside.

She'd seen that before. In John when she went into her heat—less in those days than previously. The stalking, and the deep inhales. The chilled amount of sneaking silence, as if afraid that whatever he pursued would flash away without a trace.

Raising her own chin, she sniffed as well, unable to detect anything. Yet Cas continued up the stairs, intent and determined.

She'd wondered when Dean had told her Cas had presented as an alpha. She'd been so certain they were meant to be together, and while John had long since assumed Dean would be the alpha, she'd never put all her eggs in that basket. Certainly Dean was well built, strong, but so was she really, especially for an omega female. Though it'd seemed overshadowed by his other qualities, Dean had always struck his mother as being more sensitive, softer. Pretty even. He was a beautiful young man—in every way. And it was only because he'd embraced alpha traits as well that these other qualities had been overlooked. The ones that would make him a highly desired omega too. All was made even clearer in comparison to Sam, who was growing up bigger, stronger, and faster than Dean ever had. Though he was physically larger than Cas, Dean had always been steady with his growth, unlike alphas.

Unlike Cas, who'd been small until he'd turned fifteen and then shot up in a matter of months. That was when Mary had really started to entertain it, that maybe the combination they'd come to assume was actually the other way around.

That Cas hadn't been following at Dean's heels all these years, but  _chasing_  him.

As of then, she had her answer, her lips turning up at their corners only weakly before she headed back on her way. Nothing she could do about it after all, and too much waiting would leave Dean in a world of misery. She left Cas to his pursuit, going about her chores as he finally reached the top of the stairs and headed on down the hall.

He could smell it stronger than ever then, the sweetest thing that had ever wafted up into his nostrils. It was almost out of body, the way his legs toed him up to the door, one he'd walked through so many, many times before. He turned the knob with two fingers, his whole heart surging into his throat at what he knew,  _he knew_ , was waiting behind.

The door floated easily over the carpet, what he saw nearly sending him over the edge.

Dean. Dean in a way he'd never witnessed him before.

He was lying out on the bed, muscular, naked body glistening with sweat beneath the weak rays of sunlight drifting through the windows. His back was arched, his ass up in the air in a rather obscenely open manner, knees pulled apart against the sheets. Hands grappling with the fabric, his whole body was shuddering as his head turned to look at Cas. Those pink lips were perfectly flushed with his cheeks—a rosiness that faintly trailed through the rest of his lightly freckled form. His lashes were wet, tears leaving salty trails down his cheeks. Panting heavily, mouth parted, a light whimpering hit Cas's ears. Along with that wanton scent, one that nearly sent Cas toppling back out the door. It was so strong, and so thick. But better than anything he'd ever experienced in his life.

" _Cas_ …" Dean whined, hand slipping through the sheets as though reaching for him. "Cas, I  _need_  you." Dean's whole body jerked then, as though ripped through by a shudder, and he cried out—both in pain and pleasure.

Stepping inside, Cas closed the door behind him, shutting out everyone else. He turned the lock.

He watched, oddly calm. Calm, however, in the heaviest, hottest way. His whole body was throbbing, his pants tight as he gulped. As his eyes narrowed, a kind of surging strength pushing up from his toes to his neck, fingers flexing with it. Like an animal with its prey in sight, he swelled, muscles tensing. He felt bigger and stronger than he ever had before, every nerve in his body focused.

Focused on Dean.

"Please, Cas, please," Dean was begging out pathetically, his hips driving him only quickly into the mattress before he was pushing himself up again. Offering everything. "Make it  _stop_!" His normally deep voice had risen a few octaves as he moaned out, the sound ringing in Cas like thousands of bells knocking in tandem.

The alpha inside him rose its head in astute awareness, feet slowly carrying him up to the bed. At the end, he stood, looking down at the pathetic mess of a man before him. Dean, who'd always had the higher vantage point; who'd always been one step ahead. Who'd always flaunted around like Cas belonged to him, a sentiment that had never caused offense. Not until that moment when, strange, carnal sensations pumping through him, Cas wanted it the other way around. Dean was  _his_ , and he was going to make that fact clear.

"Cas," Dean was gasping out his name, looking up from the center of the bed. "Please, please, plea-" He was cut off by a shiver running up his entire body, his eyes closing as he breathed against it, teeth gritted.

"Please what?" Cas asked, surprising even himself at how deep his voice had gone. How much like a growl it sounded. But he was pleased with it as well, his tone straight as he stood watching Dean writhe against the sheets.

"Wh-what?" Dean managed to squeak out, his eyes fluttering open again, still tear-filled as he took in Cas's gaze. Those blackened eyes and looming posture. Dean had never seen his best friend so huge before, but perhaps that was the heat talking. He looked almost dangerous—dark and intent. Part of Dean, the omega part that he was still wrestling with, shot with fear, and he was ashamed to have felt it at all. But it was an erotic kind of fear, one that spoke of a pleasure he'd never realized he wanted.

"What do you want, Dean?" Cas asked, voice unfazed and straight. "Tell me."

"I want- you know what I want!" he hissed out, those years expecting to be an alpha trying to contradict the warmth thrumming inside him. Was Cas really going to make him say it? Like he was some begging whore? He wouldn't! He couldn't!

Cas's eyes fell away, like it was just so fucking easy! And Dean felt another involuntary whimper leave his lips.

"You're what I want!" Dean managed to get out, Cas's attention falling back. Dean tried to keep his disposition hissing, aggressive, but then another wave rushed over him and he was trembling and shaking and  _needing_  more than ever.  _Longing_ with Cas so close. He didn't care about being an "alpha" anymore, he just wanted to be full, and taken, and bred, and he'd do anything for it.

"I'm afraid, Dean, that I don't know quite what you mean," Cas teased, still making no moves to assist on the bed. He merely blinked, waiting oh so patiently for Dean to give in.

"Yes you do!" Dean had tried to sound demanding and it'd come out as a moaning whine. "Please, please, Cas,  _please_!"

"Please  _what_?"

Dean gasped, whimpering as he blinked up at him. As he gave in, pushing himself higher into the air. "I want you to fuck me, Cas, please. I'm  _waiting_!"

He'd never wanted anything so badly in his life.

Cas wasn't cruel however, no matter what his alpha instincts were telling him. Dean was still his best friend, and he knew heats were painful. It was a slight battle, fighting with his carnal instincts to let Dean feel it, to make him want to be bred even more, but Cas's rationale won out. Perhaps that made him an exceptional alpha, he didn't know. Dean was an out of the ordinary omega, that much was clear. Perhaps that was why they fit so well together.

"Cas…" Dean's whimper was quiet, sad almost, and Cas frowned. "Cas, please, I can't take this anymore." Perhaps it was because his thoughts of sympathy had started it, the clearing of the fog before him. Blinking, Cas pushed through the arousal. Through the sweet smell and the beauty of Dean's figure before him.

He tried, as best he could, to see the situation with the logical mind he'd had the day before. A mind that had been ready for Dean to present, that had been shaped since he was a child to take on the burdens of being an omega. Burdens Dean hadn't fathomed for himself before.

That Dean wasn't ready for.

"No," Cas managed cough out, his body beginning to scream against what he was doing. Alphas didn't refuse omegas. It just wasn't done. There were factions of society, outside their own, that consistently griped for omega rights—that were trying to get laws implemented that would make it illegal to breed an omega on their first heat, before they could get suppressants. But overall they were ignored by the masses. Cas knew of it all of course—he'd done his research. He'd never spoken to anyone about it before, not even Dean. He'd always been thankful, relieved even, that he'd thought he'd had his alpha. That it was someone he could trust, that would treat him like the human being he was.

He'd been ready, and he'd wanted Dean. Even if that'd meant having pups as a teenager, and being forced from his home. He'd come to terms with it.

But Dean hadn't. As someone who'd gone through the preparations, who'd had to grapple with the implications, Cas understood firsthand what it was like to be an expected omega, even if he wasn't actually. The stress, no matter how internalized, and the prejudice. All things Dean would be new to. All things that, on top of being mated, would hurt him exponentially.

It was that thought that killed Cas's excitement completely. That turned it into disgust. This whole transition was going to be hard enough for Dean. Cas refused to add to it. Maybe the heat would be like torture, but it was temporary. Dean could then go on suppressants and they could work through this. Together.

Cas wished, more than anything, that he was an omega in that moment. He was ready where Dean wasn't, had accepted his lot when, perhaps, he shouldn't have. Seeing Dean there, helpless, confused, and out of control, it took anything and everything good away, if there'd been any good at all.

The more he looked, the sicker he felt.

"What?" Dean squeaked out.

"I said 'no,'" Cas took a deep breath, backing up a step from the bed. "You're not… you're not ready for this Dean. I know."

"Don't go, Cas," Dean begged, reaching out to him, fingers skimming the sheets. "Please, I  _need_  you."

"No, I'm not what you need," Cas continued to back away until he was up against the door. "And if I stay, I won't be able to control myself." Not with Dean looking and smelling and pleading the way he was. "You'll thank me when this is over."

"Cas!" Dean was leaning up, green eyes wide, and Cas feared his desperation would grant him the strength to get up. To come to him. Which Cas couldn't allow.

"I'm sorry, Dean." Flicking the lock on the knob, Cas gritted his teeth, forcing his eyes to drag from Dean's. "I'm  _so sorry_." Twisting the knob, Cas slid quickly back out into the hall, pulling it closed behind. Hand tight on the doorknob, he held it, afraid that, despite being weak, Dean would manage to crawl to the door and get out.

Frustrated and upset, Cas barked out a single word before he could contain his alpha voice. " **Mary**!" He regretted his tone as soon as it'd left him, his teeth gritting in discomfort. Dean's mother came up almost immediately, looking startled and questioning. "Sorry." Cas forced his voice back down to a more respectful level. "Do you have the key to Dean's bedroom? I need to… lock him in."

"Oh…" Mary's confusion only increased tenfold, but her engrained habits that told her to obey alpha commands won out for the moment and she turned to rush back down the stairs. She came back up a second later, key in hand. She handed it to Cas, who locked the door before releasing a pained sigh. Leaning his forehead against the wood, he closed his eyes, able to hear Dean's pained moans even with the soundproofing.

"I can't go back in there," Cas started after a moment, tone gruff. "But after I leave, if you could go in and lock all the windows. I don't think he's strong enough to try and escape that way, but Dean isn't exactly your average omega either. I don't want him to hurt himself more than he already will."

"I can do that," Mary said quietly, her eyebrows pulling together as she looked Cas up and down. "Honey, what are you…?"

"He's not ready," Cas finally looked at her, his blue eyes no longer shadowed in black, which further shocked Mary. "I can't… I  _won't_  put him through this. He can't handle it. Not now."

Blinking, Mary's mouth slowly fell open. She was an omega after all. She knew just as much about it as Cas had researched. But like so many, she'd been granted a somewhat positive situation. One where she was safe, where she was respected. It was the "most" an omega could hope for, and what she'd been taught should be hoped for by others. Certainly she hadn't wanted any of her children to be mated as teenagers, but she'd been willing to be there to pick up the pieces—her attitude toward Cas all through the years was proof enough of that.

And when she'd seen Cas hunting up the stairs, she'd known he'd take care of Dean. That Dean would be safe with him. Society told her this was good, that it was the best they could get, yet there Cas stood before her. An alpha with omega sympathy—something that simply wasn't typical. He was controlling himself, he was putting Dean's needs first, and for the first time in all her years of knowing him, Mary was truly touched by his actions. She'd known Cas her whole life and had always approved of his calm, sensible demeanor, but she hadn't fathomed him capable of this. Only because she was constantly being told be everyone and everything around her that such actions were too much to expect.

That alphas had an excuse to act as they did toward those weaker than themselves.

Reaching out, she placed her hand on his shoulder, the tears that rose to her eyes falling unhindered. "Thank you," she whispered quietly, her breath already catching. Managing a small nod, Cas tried to smile, only succeeding slightly as he finally backed away from the door.

He left the Winchester house, though his legs felt like they were constantly getting sucked down into concrete. His family questioned him when he returned, to which he gave no response and headed directly up to his room.

The majority of the next three days Cas spent in solitude. Dean was trapped by his own biology, this he realized. And though he couldn't experience the same torture with him, Cas felt the least he could do was be as close to him as he dared. So he stayed home from school, sitting in his room in the dark trying not to think about what was happening across the street. It wasn't until the end of the third day that he saw Mary come out the door and make her way over to his own house. By that time, most of Cas's family had figured out what was going on, but none had bothered him. Even if they didn't understand.

Mary was no doubt let right in, and it was she that came up and told Cas that it was over. That it was safe for him to go see Dean.

Which was how Cas, tired and somewhat hesitant, ended up trailing her back into the familiar yellow house. John was there as he entered, their eyes only meeting quickly as Cas shucked off his shoes. Yet, though John was technically the dominant alpha, he was the first to look away, an expression of shame overcoming his expression. Cas recognized it as self-shame, which only made him feel worse. By being the first one to look away, John was giving into an age-old gesture of submission to an alpha stronger than himself, which wasn't what Cas had expected. Or wanted. But the cold way in which Mary breezed by her husband, and how John's gaze then drifted with concern up the stairs to where Dean was, told Cas a considerable amount about the current family dynamic.

There was probably nothing like having to deal with your child being in potential danger when you'd never fathomed it possible before. Cas couldn't imagine the turmoil Dean's omega presentation had put John through (despite having felt something similar himself), and could only entertain the discussion that had transpired when Mary had told him of Cas's decision not to mate Dean. There were certain things that could change a person, cow them perhaps, and an alphas natural instincts to protect their kin combined with the shock of seeing their assumed way of life, which was now a threat to that ability to protect the ones they loved, overturned by a teenager's unexpected self-control was clearly enough to do so for John.

Cas made sure to stare down at the carpet as he headed up the stairs, if only to try and not further injure John's pride. Mary watched him the whole way however, with a raised chin, trust in her eyes, and pride in her posture.

She was as proud of Cas as she would have been her own children, the fact that Dean probably wouldn't have practiced the self-control Cas had a fact she blamed herself and John for wholly, which had probably been part of the discussion that had caused the cold atmosphere.

Sam, as an expected alpha, would probably be in for some different expectations than Dean had dealt with.

Unsure how to feel about how his actions had changed Dean's familial structure, and honestly less and less concerned about it the closer he got to Dean's door, Cas gulped before pausing with his hand just hovering over the knob. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, reminding himself to stay in control even if remnants of what Dean had been through remained in the bedroom.

Focused and thinking only of Dean's wellbeing, Cas finally pressed his way into the room.

It was dim. None of the lights were switched on and the only light allowed to filter in came through the blinds pulled down over the windows. Closing the door quietly behind him, Cas's nose alerted him to the dirty clothing in the hamper nearby, his stomach turning what might have been arousal into nausea. Ignoring it, Cas returned his attention to what was important.

To Dean, who was sitting on the bed with his knees pulled up to his chest. Swathed in a pair of old sweats and a tank top, he had his arms wrapped around his legs, his hair damp after what Cas assumed had been a shower. And as their eyes met, bloodshot and tired, a clearly apparent shame overcame Dean's expression—not unlike his father's previously.

Cas wasn't going to allow it that time.

"Don't," he said quietly, leaving the door as he quickly made his way to the side of the bed. "Don't do that." Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, he dared to try and reach out, hand faltering when Dean shied away. "You have nothing to be ashamed of."

"Ha!" Dean's embarrassment only intensified as he glanced away, tears eagerly assaulting his already exhausted form. He tried to sniff them back, but it did little good. "Christ, Cas, you were there. You saw it. Like hell there wasn't-"

"You couldn't help it," Cas did reach out to him then, ignoring how Dean leaned away from his touch. He placed his hand on Dean's shoulder, fingers tightening in what he hoped would be interpreted as comfort. "Neither of us expected this. And neither of us was ready to deal with it." Dean especially. "You couldn't control yourself."

"You did." Dean said the words almost resentfully, Cas pursing his lips. He'd kind of expected such a reaction however. Omega or not, Dean would still be threatened by him. That was simply the way he'd been raised. Which would only be another variable that would make this whole thing that much harder. Not because he didn't have the right to be threatened by Cas, but because he'd been taught that he should be.

"That's different," Cas muttered. "Just because it's hard doesn't give me the right to take advantage of you. Besides, you're not giving yourself enough credit." Cas's expression softened some. "You could have gotten out of here, you knew where I was. But you didn't. That's no different than me."

"You make it all sound so simple," Dean stared down at the sheets, finally reaching up to wipe away his tears. "But you weren't the one… naked and begging and…" Yet the tears came on full force yet again, once more spurred by shame.

"Dean," Cas shook his head, scooting across the bed. Until their thighs were touching, his arm reaching further until it was wrapped around Dean's shoulders. "It doesn't matter."

"And then my  _mom_  saw me," Dean cradled his face in his hands. "She came in and I remember begging her to get you. Fucking hell, Cas, what's  _wrong_  with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you," Cas said firmly, his grip on Dean's shoulders becoming heavier. "You're perfect just the way you are. It's over now and anyone who thinks any less of you for something you had no control over isn't worth your time. I love you, your family loves you, and being an omega, or a beta, or whatever, doesn't change any of that."

Dean had glanced up halfway through his speech, lips trembling only slightly as he did. As he reached out and laid his hand on Cas's knee, as if needing the anchor to keep him grounded.

"How is it," Dean's voice was somewhat shaky, "that you're an alpha now, but you haven't changed one bit."

Cas smiled. "That kind of stuff doesn't change who we are. I'm still the same, and so are you. You're still my best friend, Dean. And you always will be."

Gulping, Dean took a deep breath, as if trying to gather his self-control.

"It was horrible, Cas," he admitted quietly, his voice like sandpaper. "Feeling that way, not being able to stop." He paused, turning until they were facing each other, his hands resting on Cas's thighs. "Thank you," it was only a whisper, what he was able to get out. "For not… not doing it.  _Thank you_."

Cas nodded, reaching up rather instinctively before pushing Dean's damp hair back flat. To stop it from hanging about his forehead. His fingers then trailed down across that strong jawline, coming to rest just gently against Dean's neck.

"You're better than I am," Dean said softly. "If it'd been the other way around, like how we all thought it was going to be, I wouldn't have waited. You know I wouldn't have."

"You don't know that," Cas murmured, his thumb stroking Dean's neck. "You don't know how seeing me like that, out of control, not myself, would have affected you. Besides, there's no point in considering 'what ifs.' We're  _here_  now, and that's what matters.

"I know this is hard for you. This isn't what either of us expected, but we'll get through it. Together. Okay?"

It took Dean a moment, but he ultimately agreed, finally allowing a tentative smile to pull at his lips. The tears had stopped too, the breath between them evening out into a similar pattern. Closing his eyes, Cas leaned forward, allowing his forehead to rest against Dean's. It was hot, still plagued with leftover heat, and Cas felt his protective instincts rear their heads defensively.

He'd protect Dean from anyone and everything, even himself.

"Cas," Dean's breath splashed over Cas's lips, warm and inviting. "I… I love you too."

Smiling again, Cas didn't bother opening his eyes. Instead, he leaned up, brushed his lips lightly over Dean's forehead, and then returned to his previous position.

They sat there for a long time, simply being together.

Best friends, forever and always.


	18. When Nothing Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kicked out of the house and suffering the emotional whiplash of severe bullying, Cas has started life at a new school. The local football star, Dean Winchester, takes an instant interest, Cas deciding that maybe it wouldn't be the worst idea to go on a date with him. It doesn't have to mean anything after all, or get serious. And Dean certainly doesn't need to know the truth about Cas's transgender identity.
> 
> Rated T for adult themes.

Already it was there, the panic. Rising up and up and up until it felt like an explosion on the edge of detonation. Eyes closing, Cas's hands pulled into fists, nails digging into soft skin. The mirror seemed to almost be mocking, the image reflected back beginning to tip as the nausea overtook everything. Pulled down by anxiety and nerves, Cas stumbled to the side, into the bed. Collapsing on the edge of the mattress, she took her head in her hands and closed her eyes.

Deep breaths. In and out. Ten seconds one way, ten seconds the other.

Everything was fine. She just had to keep telling herself that. Her new school was clear on the other side of the country from her old one—there was no way anyone would know.

This was her chance.

Despite how her stomach wanted to throw up on itself, she forced her shaking legs up into standing, once again facing the mirror. Ignoring the way her heart was straining in her chest, she took in her reflection.

This was what she'd wanted. A new place, fresh, where she could finally be herself. It'd been more stressful at her old school, always having to hide, having panic attacks all the time. This would be better. She just had to stay calm.

Her cousin, Anna, had taken her shopping the month before. She'd helped Cas with the entirety of her wardrobe—from shoes to clothes to hair. Her knowledgeable facts still rang in Cas's head, as if trying to reassure her.

"See, this one synchs at the waist, so it'll make your hips look bigger when it flares."

"You should wear a little bit of a heel. It'll make your butt stick out some."

"Wider straps will make your shoulders look narrower."

As it were, she was standing there in a knee length, high collared, navy blue dress. The collar was white, traditional maybe, and there were a couple buttons coming down the front. On her feet were a pair of black oxfords with a slight heel. Her dark hair was nicely combed, though cut in a short pixie style. And as she ran her fingers over her jaw, she was satisfied that the hair was still gone after the laser treatments to remove it permanently.

Tall, yes, but with a wiry frame. She pulled it off well, or so Anna kept telling her. No one would suspect, not with those "pretty blue eyes" and "full lips." Using just a little makeup to her advantage, she was feeling more comfortable inside her own skin than she ever had, though that still didn't cut down on the nerves.

This was her first day at her new school—since she'd been kicked out of her parents' house and moved in with her far more liberal aunt.

None of the students would know who she'd been before. She'd be safe to be who she wanted.

Yet, even as this positive variable filtered through her head, she felt her breakfast surging back up from her stomach again. And had it not been for the voice that called up the stairs to her room, she might have finally lost it. But her cousin's voice drew her attention, her throat gulping as she turned her focus from the mirror.

"We have to go! C'mon!" Anna yelled up, butterflies once again lifting off the walls of Cas's insides. Deciding it was best not to look in the mirror again, she grabbed her bag from the bed before heading pointedly out the door. Trying to shake away whatever anxiety she could, she slowly stepped down the stairs into the small kitchen, redness rushing to her cheeks when Anna immediately turned to her.

She smiled. "You look so nice, Cas," she said encouragingly. "All tall and pretty, like a model."

Cas allowed a sliver of a smile to crease her lips, resituating her bag on her shoulder.

"It'll all be fine," Anna assured, coming up and taking her hand. "You'll see." With a slight tug, she began to pull Cas toward the door. Soon they were out on the sidewalk, Anna placing long red hair behind her ears as she huffed. "So, girl pronouns all the time now. I think I've gotten into the habit." Cas knew Anna was just trying to make small talk, but it wasn't easing her nerves any.

"That would be best."

"Everyone is going to love you, Cas, I promise," Anna tightened her hold on Cas's hand. "All my friends are really looking forward to meeting you." Cas offered another weak smile, listening silently as Anna continued to prattle on. It was taking all Cas's strength to hold herself together, and when the school—which was only a few minutes from Anna's house—finally came into view, she felt her stomach surge again.

"Hey, it's okay," Anna assured, apparently sensing the unease. "I'm here with you and-"

"Shit!"

Eyes bugging, Cas felt the breath knocked out of her, arms flailing as she was tossed into the chain-link fence sliding along to the left of the sidewalk. Anna had been knocked off balance as well, the both of them turning quickly to see who the culprit was.

"Sorry, sorry!"

"Dean!" Anna said accusingly, a group of rowdy boys that clearly looked guilty skipping their way down the street, leaving "Dean" to suffer her wrath on his own. "What the hell, you jerk!" She thwapped him on the shoulder, Cas shuffling some to the side.

"I said I was sorry!" he claimed, flinching away from Anna before tossing a glare at the three boys who'd run off, laughing. "It was Garth's fault." He turned back. "He was being an asshole."

"Yeah, right." Anna cocked an eyebrow skeptically, arms crossing. It was in that moment that "Dean" finally flicked his attention to Cas, who looked away immediately.

"Oh…" Dean blinked, faltering only momentarily. "You… you must be Anna's cousin." He turned fully to Cas, who could only bring herself to flick her eyes up for a second.

"Dean, this is Castiel. Cas, this is my 'friend,' Dean." Anna made obvious air quotes, Dean glaring at her quickly before turning back to Cas.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're, like, really tall for a girl." Naturally, that would have to be the first thing someone said. Cheeks reddening, Cas looked to Anna, doing her best not to panic.

"Wow, Dean, what a compliment." Anna took it all in stride.

"Wha- I-" Dean blinked stupidly. "I didn't mean it in a bad way." He was looking at Cas again. "I mean, tall chicks are great. I was just surprised is all. Your tallness is awesome. You look awesome tall. You're very pretty. Have I made up for it yet?"

Cas was blushing even more profusely.

"Get out of here, you idiot." Anna knocked him on the shoulder again. "You're an embarrassment."

"Am not." Dean frowned. "I'm just too smooth for you."

"Yeah, too smooth for Cas too, apparently." Anna's tone was clearly mocking, hinting at the exact opposite of what she was claiming. Dean looked to Cas again though, who tried to give him a small smile. He flashed a huge grin in response, which only turned Cas's cheeks an even deeper shade of crimson.

"I do have to go," he pointed down the street, though never took his gaze from Cas. "But I'll see you around?"

"Sure…" Cas finally managed to mutter out, Dean giving her a small wave before turning and skipping off after his friends.

Anna huffed. "That's Dean Winchester." She was linking her arm with Cas's again, who was glancing around, spotting the school parking lot across the street. Was that where the rowdy boys had come from? "He's a bit of a doof, but not a bad guy. He sits with us at lunch sometimes. He's kind of a drifter like that—hangs with lots of groups of people."

She continued on to explain that Dean was probably the most popular person in their entire school. That he was nice to almost everyone even if he didn't know them personally. He could be intimidating because of such a status, but he—supposedly—had a real moral streak running through him. He didn't put up with bullying, his strict mentality spreading waves through the rest of the school.

"Sounds like you might like him," Cas teased, if only to try and lighten the mood. They were headed up the stairs to the front of the school, Cas needing any distraction she could get.

"Ugh, no. We dated for, like, a week, but it didn't come to anything." She paused and gripped at Cas's arm a little tighter, turning so they were facing each other in front of the open doors. "I just want you to feel safe," Anna muttered. "There are good people here, I promise."

Cas could only offer a small smile in response.

The two cousins were separated quickly enough however, Anna having to head off to biology while Cas attended advanced geometry. As she was joining the class late, she'd be entering a few weeks after it'd already started, which would be nerve-wracking enough. She was, thankfully, early, and took a seat to the far side of the group that was already there, hoping to go as undetected as possible.

It was too much to hope for, clearly.

"Hello again," Dean's voice nearly caused Cas to jump. Turning her head to the side, she was just in time to see him slide into the seat beside her own, that winning smile once again plastered to his face. He really was a very beautiful young man—freckles, soft lips, bright green eyes.

"Hey," Cas said rather shyly, attention falling to the desk in front of her.

"You have the same problem I do," Dean mentioned, sounding as friendly as he had previously. "Too tall to fit in these desks. How tall are you?" Cas scrunched up a little, as if to hide how tall she was. She failed.

"Almost six foot…"

"Wow, you're only a little shorter than me. You gonna be a model?"

"I hadn't really thought about it…"

"I bet you'd be good at it." Dean sat back in his seat, a few others placing themselves around him, giving Cas curious looks all the while.

"You don't even know me." Cas didn't say it in a mean way. More or less, she was just being factual.

"We could change that." Dean's smile became a little more devious then, his eyebrows waggling. A few of the students sitting around him huffed and rolled their eyes, Cas able to offer nothing in response besides a flushed smile.

The teacher came in shortly after, silencing them. But that was far from the last conversation Cas would have with Dean Winchester. It quickly spread throughout the school that Dean had formed quite the crush on the new student, a fact he flaunted fearlessly. Initially, Cas was shocked by the attention. That fact that Dean had taken an interest in her had skyrocketed her popularity, leaving her with more acquaintances than she knew what to do with. That very first Friday, Dean had asked if she'd like to go out and get dinner with him, to which she'd said she'd have to think about it before rushing home to hyperventilate with Anna.

"You just need to calm down," Anna rubbed her back as she breathed into a paper bag. "People just like you because you're nice and pretty and, well, because Dean likes you."

"Why does he like me?" Cas muttered into the bag, eyes closed tight as it inflated.

"Why shouldn't he?"

"Because-"

"You should have just told him that you'd go out with him."

This did finally pull Cas up straight, the bag coming down from her face as she turned a skeptical look on Anna. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm- because I-" Was Anna really going to make her say it? Because she was trans! Because she hadn't had surgery! And didn't intend to! Because Dean was the stereotypical straight jock boy and it was basically doomed from the start!

"Dean dates people all the time, Cas," Anna encouraged. "You should give yourself a chance. Just because you go on one date with a guy doesn't mean it has to become anything else. Have some fun!"

"It's not that simple," Cas replied, glancing down at the plain blue comforter on her bed. "What if he… realizes…"

"Why would he realize? Not like you're going to have sex with him or something. And I know Dean. Plenty of girls have gone out with him, me included. He'd never pressure you into doing something you aren't ready for. And I think it could be a good experience for you." She knew Cas wanted someone—a significant other—but had put it to the backburner behind everything else. "You could just go have a good time, that's all."

"I don't know, Anna." Dating was one of the many things that terrified Cas. It scared her for more reasons than she could even count, but mostly she feared someone finding out, getting angry, and…

The life expectancy for trans women wasn't all that high.

But she didn't want to spend her life alone either…

"It doesn't have to become anything serious?" she asked quietly, looking up at Anna again.

"I don't think I've ever seen Dean date anyone for more than a month. You should be fine." Anna smiled.

Which was why, after a weekend of deliberation, Cas eventually decided that maybe it was okay to let loose a little bit. She hadn't come to a new school to be plagued by the same constraints she had been previously. Besides, Anna was right. It didn't have to become anything. Dean would never even need to know the truth. She deserved this, didn't she?

Dean was clearly anxious when she saw him by the front doors Monday morning, and she felt slightly guilty for having made him wait so long. However, the shy smile that graced her lips as she approached him appeared to relieve some of his stress, and when she agreed to go out with him, his smile reached a watt power she hadn't even realized was possible.

The date was set for Friday night, a whole five days away, but Dean had football practice every night, so there was little getting around the wait. Still, they exchanged numbers, Cas having to cover her smile with the back of her hand every time Dean texted her throughout the day. Their first period class—the only period they had together—was spent with Dean constantly reaching over to touch her. Not in invasive ways, but to run his fingers along her headband, or the collar of her dress. He had the audacity to take her hand when they walked out into the hall on Wednesday, his fingers scurrying down her arm until they linked with Cas's own. The action was quick, and like everything Dean did, took Cas by surprise. But it wasn't unwelcome, and he was quite smooth about the whole thing.

They sat together at lunch, Dean's popularity bringing with him all his friends, which sometimes seemed to change by the moment. There were people soon inviting Cas out to the mall on the weekends, or to sit with them at Dean's football games. Maybe it was a little overwhelming, and perhaps a lot of the time Cas just smiled shyly and nodded, but the attention wasn't unwelcome.

Occasionally Cas would reflect on her time spent at her previous school. The bullying and name-calling she'd had to endure. The way her parents had shunned her after she'd come out—first as gay and then as trans. What would these people think if they could see her a year ago? She was positive things would be different if they knew the truth, but it was such a high to be accepted. She knew it was all a dream, a fantasy, but Anna kept telling her it was okay. That she deserved it, so she let it happen.

She let Dean put his arm around her at lunch, and muttered quiet "thank you's" to the girls who were always complimenting her on how long her legs were, and how pretty her eyes were, and how cute her clothes were. She laughed at the silly things Dean whispered in her ear before they parted in the halls, surprised but pleased at how upfront he was about his feelings despite the fact that they hadn't even been on a single date yet.

And when Friday came along, she convinced herself that the stress she was feeling was more about how she looked and what to wear, even if that wasn't true.

"Are you sure this looks okay? Maybe I should wear a skirt…"

"Dean's a butt guy and those skinny jeans look great on you," Anna assured. They were a dark wash, Cas's pointed black pumps with their silver tips more adventurous than what she normally wore to school. On top she'd decided on a simple, shoulder-revealing sweater. Her breasts, which weren't that big, made her feel a bit insecure, so she preferred looser or higher cut tops.

"Are you sure these aren't too tight? I don't want to-"

"You pull them off like one of those Calvin Klein advertisements, I promise," Anna huffed. "Seriously, you look good. Quit worrying so much and just have fun!" And like she had for the last week, Cas took Anna's advice and pushed her worries to the back of her mind. She turned away from the full-length mirror, took a deep breath, and nodded once. Anna nodded with her, the two of them just in time for Anna's mother, Cas's Aunt Naomi, to yell up the stairs to them that there was a boy at the door.

When Cas and Anna came down the stairs, Dean was standing in the living room, speaking with Naomi. It was practically a rom-com moment, Cas once again donning a shy smile as Dean turned to watch her step down the stairs. They shared in quick greetings, the way Dean's whole expression seemed trained on her every movement more than enough to cause Cas's attention to stay on her feet.

In her pumps, she really was just as tall as Dean, but he clearly didn't care one bit.

"You two have fun," Naomi called as they headed out the door. "And  _be careful_!" Cas knew that last bit of advice was for her, that her aunt worried about her, but she liked Dean, and like Anna had said, it didn't have to go anywhere.

It didn't have to mean anything.

Dean's black impala was parked in the street outside the house, Cas slipping into the passenger seat as Dean held it open for her. He was soon jogging around to the other side, the car taking off down the road as Dean's ever enigmatic personality burst forth into conversation.

"So I was thinking we could go to this diner I like downtown, and from there we could walk around the shops and stuff. I know you're new to town, so I figured it would, you know, help you get to know the place better." He quickly tossed her a smile.

"That sounds fine."

"I mean, I know a diner's not exactly traditional for a first date, but I hate the concept of movie and dinner, you know? You can't talk or get to know each other during movies."

"I think it sounds like a fine idea, Dean." Cas's voice was much more subdued than Dean's, though not necessarily quiet. In fact, Cas had noticed that her whole attitude seemed to perplex him, his puppy-like excitement at being around her occasionally shadowed by puzzlement. The silence that followed his plans was one of those times.

"You really don't say much, do you?" he eventually asked.

And Cas, whose eyebrows rose in surprise, tried to consider whether what he said was true. "I suppose that, maybe, I'm not the type to speak unnecessarily." Cas had spent a good chunk of her life being silenced. Maybe such strict, disciplined rules had a long-lasting effect.

"I get that," Dean nodded, his muscular arms easily guiding the wheel. "You're thoughtful. I like that. Not a lot of high schools girls have that yet."

Cas smiled.

"You look really nice, by the way." Always with the bright smiles.

"Thank you," Cas's cheeks pinked, as they always did.

"You always look really nice though," Dean continued easily. "You dress really sophisticated, I think. Like… like a woman, not a girl. And I think a lot of the girls at our school are jealous by how well you pull it off." Alarms rang in Cas's head. "I mean, looking so mature and modely and stuff."

She took a deep breath, willing her heart to calm.

"Maybe that's why I like you so much," he continued, completely unabashed. "You seem like you really know who you are. I mean, you don't say much, but you seem really confident." Cas furrowed her brows at this. She wouldn't call herself confident. "Sure you act shy," he turned to her, "but I've seen the way you push past people in the halls, and how you argue with the teachers about certain points." He winked at her before looking away. "You're not fooling me."

"I hadn't ever really considered it before," Cas affirmed. "I suppose that, at my old school, I had to be forceful. Otherwise, no one listened to me."

"What do you mean?"

Cas paused, realizing she was treading on dangerous terrain. "People didn't like me as much there as they seem to here," she admitted quietly.

Dean "tsked," as if the idea disgusted him. "I don't know why they wouldn't. You're smart, you're nice, and, I mean, I personally think you're beautiful, so."

Cas was sure her cheeks were going to be perpetually pink around Dean. "I'm sure you say that to all the girls."

"Well, I do. All women are beautiful as far as I'm concerned. But I think you might be exceptionally so."

"Now you're just trying to flatter me."

"Of course I'm trying to flatter you." Dean laughed. "How else am I supposed to get you to like me?"

"Well now you've given away your strategy. I'll be far more skeptical from now on."

"Wow, sassy. You really do just pretend to be that shy, innocent girl everyone at school thinks you are."

"I wouldn't say I'm pretending," Cas glanced out the window, aware of the way Dean was flicking his eyes back and forth to watch her. "It's more of a defense mechanism, really."

This caused Dean to frown, a moment of silence falling between them as the impala was pulled into the small parking lot in front of a local diner. The engine was cut a moment later, Dean turning his attention back to Cas.

"Can I ask why you… why you live with your aunt and Anna? Why don't you…?" Cas understood his question, and was trying her best to figure out how to answer honestly without giving away too much.

"It just got really hard back there, where I… used to be," she glanced over at him, smiling softly. "I don't really want to talk about it, if that's alright. I like it here much better, if that helps."

Dean still looked concerned, but instead of pestering her about it, he nodded. Reaching out, he brushed some of her hair back, Cas blinking while taking in every moment. This wasn't attention she was used to, and to say she was savoring it was a bit of an understatement.

"I don't understand how people could not like you," he muttered, his fingers trailing lightly down her cheek before retreating. "I liked you the moment I saw you."

Cas smiled again—only lips, no teeth. "I get the feeling you like a lot of people." It wasn't an insult, just an observation.

"I really like you though."

The moment was oddly serious, Cas's breath catching in her throat. For a moment, all she saw were Dean's eyes, and a feeling of danger shrouded in excitement flashed through her. Quicker than she could comprehend.

Dean was soon back to smiling however, jumping out of the car before going around to pull open Cas's door just as she was pushing on it herself. Heading toward the diner, he took great pains to open the doors and pull out her chairs, Cas continually flattered and embarrassed by the chivalry.

Dean appeared to be the old-fashioned type—a concept that made Cas just as wary as it did pleased.

"So, this place is kind of a hole in the wall, but the food is really great," Dean was saying as he opened the menu on the table, turning it so he could point things out to Cas. "Their sandwiches I pretty awesome, and I guess their salad is alright. But it's their burgers that are the best. And their pie."

"I love burgers," Cas assured, Dean's expression brightening. Perhaps that wasn't the response he was used to getting.

"Then you should definitely get the mushroom melt," he pointed to it on the menu. "They combine the mush-"

"Good afternoon, sorry to interrupt," their waitress announced when she came over. She smiled at Dean first—in a friendly way. "Not everyday I see you come in here with anyone other than your brother," she said, clearly familiar with him. "Is this your girlfriend?" She glanced to Cas.

"Uh, just a date," Dean corrected somewhat awkwardly. "First date, actually."

"Oh, how nice," their waitress smiled before finally getting down to business. "Well, do you two know what you want, or do you want me to just take your beverage order and come back in a bit?"

Dean looked to Cas for verification.

"We can order now," she decided. "I'll have your mushroom melt burger please."

Dean smiled rather proudly. "Same. And I'll have a coke."

"Just water for me."

"Sure thing," their waitress smiled, penning down their order before heading off. Dean was still beaming.

"It's my favorite burger," he assured. "You'll like it."

Cas nodded. "You have a brother?"

"Uh, yeah. Sammy. Sam. He'd kill me if anyone else knew I called him Sammy."

"So you two are close?"

"Yeah, I guess. He's a little dweeb, but I love him. He's in eighth grade right now, so he'll be in high school next year. Just in time for me to be gone."

"You're a senior?"

"Yeah. You're a junior, right?"

Cas nodded. "Are you going to college?"

"Yeah. I'm actually sending out all my applications soon. It's a little early, but I don't want to be scrambling later, you know?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Engineering."

Their waitress brought the drinks over then, another couple walking in at the same time. They were older, maybe in their twenties. A man and a women, the two of them laughing rather raucously as they sat down on the other side of the room. Cas watched them, Dean turning slightly to do the same. They were loud enough to be drawing attention, but they didn't seem to care. They'd taken up a bench side by side, and were making out within the moment.

Dean frowned, looking back to Cas, who'd glanced down at the table.

"How discreet," Dean muttered.

"They clearly like each other very much," Cas murmured, refusing to look back at them.

"Yeah, I guess. I'm all for public displays of affection, but there's a difference between tasteful and vulgar." Dean shook his head, taking a sip from his cup.

"I suppose." Cas shook her head.

"You sound unconvinced."

"What?" She finally glanced up then. "No! I just don't have enough… experience to have much of an opinion, I guess." She hadn't meant to say that much, to divulge her ignorance in dating, but it was too late. All she could do was blush and wait for Dean to say something.

He didn't seem the least bit perturbed by what she'd said however. "I've dated plenty and I've never acted like that in public. There's no reason. It just makes people uncomfortable."

"Perhaps."

"You said you don't have much experience, right?" Yup, he was going to address it. Cas ran her finger around the top of her glass. "I just find that so hard to believe." Yet somehow he'd turned it into a compliment.

Cas smiled again. "My parents are very conservative people," she explained, blue eyes flicking up. "Even if I'd been more popular with the people at my school, I don't think they'd have let me date." Not who she'd wanted to, anyway.

"Are they really religious or something?"

"Yes," Cas nodded. "Not that religion is inherently bad, but they were very deeply invested, to say the least." And had probably been relieved when Cas had announced that she was going to go live with Naomi and Anna. They certainly hadn't tried to stop her.

"Are you religious?"

"No, not particularly."

"A wild child then." Dean winked.

Cas laughed only shortly. "I wouldn't go that far." Her eyes were once again drawn to the couple across the room, who were practically in each other's laps by that point. "I mean, I was raised by them. I guess some of their sentiments are still engrained in who I am." She looked away.

"Does that… make you uncomfortable?" Dean gestured to the couple with his thumb. "I'll tell them to stop."

"No, it's fine," Cas shook her head. "They seem to be enjoying themselves. I'd rather not impede on someone else's happiness." Dean didn't appear totally convinced, but remained where he was. Cas was looking at the menu again, Dean watching her some before speaking.

"I don't know much about what you went through," he said slowly, Cas glancing up again, "and I'm not going to pressure you to tell me, but I just want you to know that I would never try to get you to do something you don't want to do—that you're not ready for. I get that this is just a first date and everything, but I want you to know that."

Cas tried to consider what to say, but ended up with her mouth hanging open silently. What could she say, really? Here she was, on her first date ever with a boy who hardly knew her. Who'd just learned she had little to no experience at what they were doing, and was more than willing to assure her that they could go at her pace.

If this were a normal situation, if she wasn't hiding so much, then maybe it would have been a happy moment. But, as it was, all she registered was bitter-sweetness.

There was no need to reply, however. They were interrupted again a second later. While they'd been talking, another couple had walked in and taken a seat near the middle of the diner. They were looking at the menu, talking quietly. The interruption came from the couple who'd walked in previously.

"Hey! Go somewhere else! No one wants to see that kind of thing around!" It was the man, his date laughing behind her hand. The two men who'd been looking at the menu turned in their seats. Had it not been for the fact that they'd been holding hands, no one would have been the wiser.

They clearly didn't know how to respond, quickly looking back to each other following the man's words.

Both Dean and Cas were watching as well.

"Didn't you hear me?" the man continued. "Fags like you should keep it behind closed doors. It's not natural." Cas felt her anger flair. No, she wasn't gay, but she was part of the LGBTQ community. She'd spent her whole life trying to defend herself—she'd be more than willing to defend others.

She was beat to the punch however.

"Hey!" Dean had stood, the way his body hunched making his already broad, tall frame look even bigger. "Say that again and I'll kick your ass myself." He was looking to the man and his girlfriend, the two men at the table beginning to stand.

"We can just go…"

"No, stay there," Dean told the two somewhat sternly. "These two are the ones that came in sucking face and making a scene. They can leave." Dean was glaring back at the first couple, the man having stood up as well.

"Watch it, kid," he warned.

"Watch what?" Dean flexed his muscles a little more. "You want to take this outside? Because I'm more than happy to go." He gestured to the door, his literal seriousness about the prospect seeming to set his opponent on edge. For a few moments, they stood staring at one another, Cas finally finding her feet. Standing as well, she came up beside Dean, unsure what to think when he held his hand out to stop her going any further.

"This place is shit anyway," the man finally decided, his girlfriend standing as well—as if spurred by Cas's actions. "We were just leaving." Swiping his coat from his chair, the man headed by the other couple, casting them a glare before he reached Dean, who was standing at the corner of the path that led to the exit. No formal challenge was made, but more glares were thrown before the two finally found their way out.

Taking a deep breath, Dean nodded simply to the two men, one of them mouthing a silent thank you. Turning back to Cas, Dean placed his hand on her back, gently motioning her back to the table.

Their food came in the same moment, the waitress also saying "thank you" before heading off again.

"I thought he was going to take you up your threat," Cas murmured as she pushed her fries around on her plate.

"I'd have taken him," Dean winked, smiling before taking a bite of his own burger. Cas smiled fully, finally showing a bit of teeth, before beginning in on her own meal. "Were you impressed though?" he asked once he'd swallowed.

"Oh yes," Cas feigned. "Your manly charm nearly made me faint." She placed the back of her hand to her forehead, as if to mimic the idea, and Dean grinned through another bite of his burger. "Hey, you have-" Cas reached out then, quite to her own surprise, and wiped her thumb along the corner of Dean's lips. "Uh, mustard," she muttered quietly, blushing once again as she pulled her finger back again. She considered wiping the yellow streak on her napkin, but decided it'd be just as easy to simply suck the condiment off her finger herself.

So she did.

"Thanks," Dean said, watching her every move. And as she set her hand back down on the table, Dean reached out and gingerly held her fingers between his own. Not tightly, more as though he was examining her hand, his hold gentle. Cas's heart leapt in the same moment, the voice in her head that whispered about her time with Dean going nowhere, becoming nothing, fading more and more into the background.

The remainder of the date was no less than perfect as far as Cas was concerned. Dean held her hand a majority of the time they spent walking around the different shops, the sun having long since gone down, leaving them ignited only by the lamplight. It was a busy night however, Cas allowing herself to relish in the fact that a cute, kind young man was choosing to hold her hand in a public place. He even bought her a rose at the local flower shop. Though it was cheesy, Cas couldn't help grinning the whole time.

It was nearing ten when they finally found their way back to the impala, Dean once more opening the door for her before they headed back to Cas's aunt's. Really, it seemed all too perfect. Like a dream, and as Cas held her rose below her nose, she considered that, even though things weren't going to get serious, she'd cherish this date forever. Dean had given her a wonderful experience, one she'd sometimes entertained she'd never get.

And when he walked her to her door, he waited for only a moment, Cas keeping the distance between them. He took the hint, only running his fingers along her jaw before turning and heading back to his car. Cas wasn't ready for what she could tell he'd been considering. She'd never kissed anyone before, and hadn't wanted to sully the date by messing it up.

Even without such an expected ending, it'd been picture-perfect, and she smiled as she watched the impala rumble off down the road. Her nose was still held just above her rose, the sweet smell something that she was sure would remind her of what they'd done together for a long time.

It didn't really occur to her that Dean would ask her out again. Of course it seemed logical, but it'd still taken her aback. They'd been flirting back and forth, but Dean hadn't brought up wanting to go out again. Cas had already been invited by Jo—one of Dean's friends—to attend the home football game. Anna had come too, Cas allowing herself to cheer as loudly as she could for Dean, who was, fittingly, the star quarterback of the team.

When he'd come up to her afterward, sweaty and tired, and pulled her away from everyone waiting to head out, Cas had been honestly surprised. He'd been formal about the whole thing, scratching the back of his head as he asked her if she wanted to go out with him for a second date the following day. Cas had looked back to Anna, unsure, but the encouraging smile she'd gotten spurred her to say yes, a grin once more playing at her lips.

Their Saturday date was just as memorable to Cas as the first had been. Dean had taken her to a local fair going on that weekend, the two of them ending up watching the sunset from the hood of his car at a park nearby.

Cas had known it was coming, that Dean would want to kiss her. And as the date had worn down, she'd grown so nervous that Dean had actually noticed.

"Are you alright?" he'd asked, Cas sighing as her stomach tied itself in knots.

"Yes, I-I just-"

Dean had known why she was nervous however, his expression softening from where he'd been sitting right beside her. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

Cas's voice had jumped from her throat before she'd been able to stop it. "I do want to." She'd gulped. "I just… I've never… before."

"It's really not that hard," Dean had grinned, his arm tightening around her shoulders, and Cas had tried to take comfort from his embrace. She'd nodded, and—ever so slowly—he'd leaned into her. Cas's breathing had been rushed, and her hands had been fists at her sides, but when Dean's lips had touched her own, all her doubts had seemed to seep away.

He'd been right of course, kissing wasn't that difficult. And as Cas had moved her lips against his, she'd felt a whole new set of butterflies let loose in her stomach. She knew this wasn't permanent, that it'd end, but there was nothing wrong with enjoying it then, right? These were things she only asked herself momentarily, far too caught up in Dean to seriously consider them.

The kiss had been long, and deeper than either had anticipated, but it'd broken apart shortly after. Dean had run his hand through Cas's hair, their noses barely touching, and Cas had allowed her lips to pull into a complete smile. One that Dean had returned.

He'd kissed her again when he'd dropped her off at home.

And asked her out again the following week.

He asked her out every week. Twice a week. Until they'd been "dating" for an entire month. Then two. The rumor mill started up then. Cas was constantly being asked if she and Dean were still dating, to which she'd always responded "yes" despite her constant doubts about it keeping on. People were abuzz, always surprised that they'd lasted so long. Then two months became three, and Dean and Cas made-out quite regularly inside the impala, and on the porch swing outside Naomi's front door. They laughed at movies—because they both enjoyed cheesy horror—and made up narratives about the people they saw walking in and out of the supermarket while they ate ice cream from the local parlor.

Two weeks after their three-month mark, Dean asked Cas if she'd have dinner with his family. She'd been surprised and he'd quickly explained that they'd been bothering him about her for weeks. She'd agreed, despite being nervous, and been swept up into the Winchester household.

Dean's little brother had picked on him about her all through dinner, and Mary, his mother, had tried to keep them from throwing food at each other, but ultimately failed. His father, John, seemed pleased that he had what they considered a classy, upstanding girlfriend, even if she was "extremely tall." After that, Cas was over at Dean's house as often as he was at Naomi's, Mary teaching her how to make Dean's favorite pie one football Sunday four months in.

When Dean had whined about it not being necessary and Mary had said that it wasn't his decision what his girlfriend did with her time, he hadn't contested the word. Neither had Cas, despite how she'd blushed. And when people then started referring to them as a couple, they hadn't said anything either. When little old ladies saw them in the park and commented on how gentlemanly Cas's boyfriend was, she always agreed with them.

By the time their five-month anniversary approached, Cas had become an expert at ignoring the doubts buzzing in the back of her head. There was no reason why she shouldn't enjoy herself, she'd argue. Dean was going to go off to college anyway, so it'd end then. Even if she didn't want it to.

Their make-out sessions had begun to get heavier by then, Dean quite familiar with the feeling of Cas's bra under his hands. She'd long since gotten used to his bare chest beneath her fingers, and the night they were in the impala—after a movie—that he managed to slip her blouse off, Cas allowed it despite how her stomach fluttered. And when his fingers undid the snap against her back, revealing her to his eyes, she'd only been momentarily hesitant. But then his hands had been on her breasts, and his mouth had been trailing down her neck. Until his lips had begun to caress the soft bulges that no man or woman had ever seen but Cas herself. And she'd arced her back into him, hands running through his hair as he'd wrapped his own strong arms around her, holding her steady.

The Saturday afternoon they went for a picnic at a park some miles away, they picked a spot at the top of a hill shrouded by a willow tree. They ended up wrapped in each other atop the blanket, beneath the twinkling sunlight through the leaves. Cas had found herself brave, and after they'd both lost their shirts, she'd dared to undo the snap at the front of Dean's jeans. He'd encouraged her, guiding her hand when she'd gone to slip it inside his boxers. She'd found her own excitement spurred to new heights as she felt along his own arousal, stroking him until he'd groaned against her neck, bucking only weakly into her hold.

He'd gone for her own jeans as well, his broad body shrouding her own. And when Cas, startled, had stopped him, he hadn't continued to pursue the subject. Instead, Cas's hand pulled from his jeans, he'd allowed his hips to grind against hers, between her legs. Cas could feel the way her own blood dropped at the feeling of his body against hers, and she wanted so badly to let it go, but was too afraid. Even as she enjoyed what they were doing, she knew she was getting too close.

She'd reached back down inside his pants than, which had stopped his movements and instead allowed Cas to bring him fully around.

Perhaps it was after that, or perhaps it'd been building for a while, but Cas was finally beginning to notice her nerves again. She didn't want Dean to notice however, so she set all her effort onto him. She stopped him whenever he tried to reach for her with something he couldn't refuse. Her hand in his pants, his boxers pulled down so he was exposed, her lips daring to go south as well.

Until they hit the six month mark. Cas was beginning to truly worry by that time. Because how long was Dean really going to allow her to touch him without him being allowed the same? She was thinking about it as they sat on his bed, a pile of letters from different colleges beside his folded legs. He was reading through them, the silence not at all perturbing to either. They were comfortable with each other and quiet wasn't something that they found awkward.

Cas had her legs pulled up against her chest, her stomach twisting and twisting and twisting.

"I've been accepted into almost every university I applied to." He sounded almost distracted as he said it.

"That's good."

"Yeah, I guess…"

Cas nudged him with her foot, urging him to continue.

"I mean, it doesn't really matter where I go," he was saying it almost as though he needed to convince himself. "A degree is a degree really, and Western Michigan is only twenty minutes away from here…"

"I thought you wanted to go to University of Michigan?" Cas had furrowed her eyebrows, her hair, which had grown to chin length, tied back in a short ponytail.

"Yeah," Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know anymore." He sighed, throwing his head back before shoving all the envelopes over the edge of the bed with his foot. Cas smiled at his evasion, blinking up at him when he focused entirely on her instead.

"I'd rather think about something else." He was grinning.

And because Cas loved the feeling of Dean's lips on her own, and his hands exploring her body, she didn't object when he leaned in—despite her nerves. And when he laid her down on the bed and pulled his shirt up over his own head, she allowed her fingers to trail along his muscular chest.

It'd become expected, this dance that they never completed. Cas's top and bra were gone soon enough as well, Dean's familiar caress on her breasts eliciting a moan from her throat that sent blood straight down between her legs.

"I don't want to go to University of Michigan," Dean murmured in her ear, kissing down along her throat. "I don't want to be that far away from you." It took a moment for his words to sink into Cas's consciousness completely, her hands in his hair as he began to trail his lips lower.

But what he was implying trickled through her like the cold drip from a broken faucet. Until she was staring up at the ceiling, any sense of arousal gone as she pursed her lips. As the fluttering in her stomach reached nauseating heights.

And Dean noticed of course. Noticed the way she froze, and how her breathing got tight.

He leaned up to look at her, concern painted in his green eyes.

She didn't want him to ask. She knew that, this time, in that moment, following those words, she'd act. She'd,  _finally_ , act.

"What's wrong, baby?"

But he did. He asked. Because that was the kind of gentleman he was.

Closing her eyes, Cas bit the inside of cheek until it bled. She was trying to fight the clogging emotions that were welling up from her stomach, but it was getting harder and harder by the second. Gently, she pushed Dean away. Until he was sitting back on the bed, looking more and more worried.

Pulling herself out from around him, Cas set her feet down over the edge of the bed, her arms wrapping around her exposed chest self-consciously. Hunched, she tried to find the courage she knew she needed, her breath shaky as she blinked.

"Cas?" Dean reached out to her, but she shied away, which really sent him into a spiral of concern. "Cas, what's wrong? Is it what I said?"

"No." She shook her head. "It's not you." Her words trembled and it didn't matter how she swallowed, she couldn't halt the pressure behind her eyes. "Dean, I need to tell you something."

A single tear managed to escape.

"Wh-what?" Dean came down beside her, going to wrap his arms around her shoulders, but Cas stood then. She made it clear she wanted distance, her arms still wrapped around her breasts as she sat down in his desk chair beside the bed. His green eyes were searching, and Cas knew this was it.

"You-you asked me why… why I left my old school, why I don't live with my parents anymore, and I told you I didn't want to talk about it." He hadn't even brought it up again, as if sensing that it was a taboo subject. "I should have told you a l-long time ago." She tried to keep her voice together. "I never should have let us… let us get this far."

She reached up and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands.

"Cas…" Dean looked defensive, and with good reason. "This is beginning to sound an awful lot like you're breaking up with me."

Cas smiled then, but it was bitter, the tears falling little by little despite how she fought them.

"There's something I've been hiding from you," she murmured, her teeth gritting. "Something about m-me.

"The reason I don't live with my p-parents anymore is because I couldn't take not being a-a-allowed to be who I am. The whole community shunned me and I… I had to leave." More tears, Dean caught in the silence and uncertainty as he listened, lips parted. "I hadn't planned to get a boyfriend when I came here," her whole body hiccupped, her lips and chin shaking. "And then Anna said I should say yes when you asked, and I knew I shouldn't have."

"Cas…"

"I'm not who you think I am, Dean." She tried to hold back the sob that threatened to rip at her whole body. "And I'm sorry I didn't tell you months ago. And I'm sorry that I… that I fell in  _love_  with you."

He stood up then, as if to go to her, but she did so as well, backing away. He stopped, clearly confused and hurt over her behavior.

"I'm  _so sorry_ ," she repeated, her eyes closing against the tears. "Please forgive me."

"Cas, whatever it is-"

"The reason I left is because my friends and family couldn't accept that I wasn't who they thought I should be," she had to keep going, if only to get it out. "They couldn't understand that just because I was born one way, I felt a-a-another." This clearly got Dean's attention, his eyebrows coming together as he watched her. "I should have told you that I- that I'm- I should have told you I'm trans and I'm  _so sorry_."

Her whole body shook with her confession, her hand coming up to cup her mouth against the sobs that were bolting from between her lips. For a few moments, all she could hear was the ringing in her own ears. It wasn't until some moments later, when the sound of Dean's voice slammed into her, that she finally forced herself to look up at him.

"What?" His tone was deep, serious, and echoed more of shock than any actual questioning. "You're… you…" He was clearly trying to wrap his head around the concept, Cas biting her lip in her attempts to stay quiet. "You were born… you were born a  _boy_?"

She had to answer. She felt she owed him that much.

"Y-yes."

Dean's eyes were wide as he watched her, and the expression painted across his face was probably one of the worst things Cas had ever seen. It wasn't disgust, or anger. But a defensive kind of distrust—something she'd never had to face in him before.

"Wh- Then- So you left… that's why you left and came here…" He reached up and rubbed his hand down his face, a habit he had when he was stressed. "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

The sound of her voice seemed to snap him back into awareness, his thoughts whirring behind his eyes as he looked her up and down. As if revaluating her.

"Let me just-" He rubbed his temples, as if trying to gather himself. "So you're… you were a boy."

"I was never a boy," she corrected. "I was born in a boy's body."

"Okay…" Dean took a deep breath. "But you're not… you're not a boy anymore, right? You've… you've had the surgery, or whatever?"

Yet he knew the answer to his own question before Cas was brokenly shaking her head. Because now he was beginning to understand why she'd needed every intimate moment between them to be gradual, and why she'd never let him beyond the point that she had.

"Holy fuck…" Dean gripped at his hair, Cas trying to remain standing even as her legs shook and more tears streaked down her cheeks. "You- you're- you're still a  _man_?"

"I'm not a m-ma-"

"But you have a penis." His voice was stern, accusing maybe, and Cas was pretty sure she knew exactly where this was headed.

" _Yes_."

"Christ…" There was a long pause then, Dean pacing only a step before going back. Cas remained where she was, waiting, unsure what to do. She knew Dean was trying to process the whole ordeal, and she knew it could take time.

If it was possible at all.

"But you're… you're  _going_  to, right?" Dean sounded as though he was grasping at straws. Or fighting a battle that was already lost. "You're going to have surgery."

Cas released a shaking breath before she was able to answer. "No… I'm not."

"You're  _not_."

"My identity isn't t-tied to my genitalia. For some people it is, but it doesn't bother me. I-I'd rather keep what I have than risk becoming something I'd hate. I'm h-happy with who I am now. I don't want to ch-change." She'd considered surgery for a long time, but ultimately decided it was something she didn't want. She knew she was a woman, but that identity wasn't defined by whether she had a penis or a vagina. For some people it was important that they go through the entire transformation. For others it wasn't. Cas was happy with herself as she was, even if others couldn't understand it.

Even if Dean couldn't understand it.

"Holy shit…" Dean was muttering, his hand flat against his forehead as he sat down on the edge of his bed again. "Son of bitch, holy shit, holy shit. My girlfriend is a dude."

His words stabbed at Cas, but she didn't have it in her to correct him. Not then. Not in that moment. All she could do was cry, and hope he understood that she hadn't meant to lie to him. That it only felt like a lie now that he knew. Now that he wasn't taking it well.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you are," Dean said rather too quickly, Cas flinching away from the words.

She held back the coughing sob that threatened to take her to her knees, instead trying to focus clearly enough to realize what this meant. That, as she'd always predicted it would, things between her and Dean were ending.

She never should have let it get this far.

"I'll just…" she reached down and collected her bra and blouse from where Dean has tossed them across the room. "I'll just  _go_." Dean didn't object, didn't say anything, and Cas didn't dare look at him as she snapped her bra into place. As she pulled on her shirt. Fully clothed once again, she grabbed her purse from the dresser beside the door, pausing for only a second to consider whether she should look back.

But she knew she couldn't. There was no point in looking back now.

Skirting her way through the Winchester house, she managed to avoid the rest of the family, her sobs forcefully and painfully choked as she slipped her feet into her flats and headed out the door. She ducked inside her aunt's car and was backing out of the drive before anyone could question her.

She went home. She went up the stairs. And it wasn't until she was standing in the middle of her bedroom that all her strength finally gave way. Collapsing, she couldn't hold back the terrible sobs that pulled at her whole body. That painfully ripped her heart from her chest over and over and over again.

"Cas?" Anna had heard her and come running, and when she saw her state on the floor, hands grappling at the carpet, she rushed to her. She held her, and rocked her, and all Cas could do was repeat the same thing over and over again.

"I told him," she cried. "I  _told him_."

**oOo**

Maybe he was still in shock. Maybe that was why he couldn't figure out how he was supposed to feel about this whole thing. Part of him was still refusing to believe that it'd happened at all—that Cas had admitted what she had. But as he walked down the school halls that Monday without her by his side for the first time in six months, he knew it was real.

He didn't go to first period. He couldn't. Instead, he went outside and leaned against the brick wall. He tried to reason through it all, but no matter what he tried to comprehend, it was like his thoughts were swimming around and around in pointless circles, unable to touch down.

He didn't know what he was supposed to think.

"I thought I saw you come out here." Her voice actually made him jump, Dean glancing up to see Anna's familiar eyes boring down on him. He pursed his lips defensively, in no state to deal with her.

"Leave me alone."

"'Leave me alone,'" she mocked as she came to stand directly in front of him. "What are you, six?"

"I'm not in the mood to talk about it, alright?" Because he knew exactly why she was there. "Just go away."

"You listen to me, Dean Winchester," she started, her tone dangerous as Dean snapped his full attention down to her. "I can't do anything about what happened between you and Cas, but I will make this clear  _right now_." She poked him in the chest with her finger, Dean glancing down in surprise. "You tell a single fucking soul what Cas told you over the weekend and I will skin you alive." She meant it. "Is that clear?"

Dean pursed his lips. If there was anything he didn't respond well to, it was being attacked and intimidated.

"Step off," he growled, snapping her hand away. "What happened between me and Cas is none of your business."

"It is my business! She hasn't done anything wrong and I swear to god I won't hear rumor that you-"

"She lied to me." Dean couldn't help that he felt betrayed—that every feeling inside his body felt numb or broken. And when he was upset, he tended to say things he knew he shouldn't. "She  _tricked_ me."

"Ha!" Anna wasn't going to deal with any of it however. "Shut up, Dean! She didn't trick you, she loves you. And you broke her heart. I can't make you a more open-minded person, but I can tell you that what you said is completely and utterly transphobic. Cas hasn't done anything wrong. It's not her fault you're more concerned with what's attached to her body than what's in her head! And don't give me any of this 'I was lied to' bullshit. You're acting like a child.

"You don't have any idea what she's been through. You've been privy to only the good things, do you realize that? You know  _nothing_  about Cas! You don't know the suffering she's gone through to get here, and the heartache. You don't know what it was like when her parents forced her to admit to their entire congregation that she was gay and that they had to pray it out of her! You don't know that her parents haven't looked her in the eyes since she was eleven years old! You don't know what it's like to have trash thrown at you when you walk down the hall at school, or to have people call you names! Or lock you in locker rooms! Or steal your clothes! Or push you around! Or tie you to flagpoles! You don't know  _anything_ about what's happened to her!" Anna was practically yelling then, Dean's chest tight as he listened. Thankfully, they were alone. "You weren't the one that was there when she told her parents she was trans and they screamed at her for hours about how much of an abomination she is! You weren't there, Dean!" She was crying, and Dean was pretty sure he was too. "You weren't the one on the other end of the phone, talking her out of suicide because all the kids at school were telling her to do the world a favor and kill herself! Her parents haven't called her once since they kicked her out! She has  _nothing_! And you think you have the right to feel like she betrayed you?! Her entire world is nothing but suffering and betrayal and I don't feel bad for you! Get over yourself, Dean!  _I don't feel bad for you at all_!"

She was shaking, her books gripped to her chest as she stared at him. Dean's own hands were fists at his sides, tears streaking down both their cheeks. But Anna wasn't about to give him the luxury of mutual heartache. Lips tight, she turned and marched off. She left him, Dean's back heavy against the wall as her words rang against his skull.

As he tried to wrap his head around what it all meant.

It was too hard though; it was too much. Pushing himself harshly from the brick, he went to his car. He climbed inside, started it up, and drove home. He didn't know what he was doing there, where he thought he needed to go, and ended up pacing the length of the empty house multiple times. Occasionally a surge of something he didn't understand would push more tears from his eyes and he'd have to wipe them away, but he came no closer to comprehension.

It wasn't until he'd paced the empty house seven times that he finally realized that a big part of his problem was due to the fact that he didn't know what he was supposed to comprehend in the first place. He knew next to nothing about transgender people, other than the fact that he was pretty sure others should just leave them the fuck alone and give them the same rights as everyone else. He'd never had to think about anything more than his moral position, which didn't require much.

He'd never even considered that he'd be involved with a transgender person.

Pausing to take a deep breath, he pushed all his deliberations, all of Anna's words, to the back of his mind and headed to his bedroom. Once there, he sat down at his computer and opened his laptop.

He spent the rest of the day and most of the night researching.

He watched videos; he read forums. He found personal stories, and he found as many interviews as he could. He learned about sexual and gender identities, and he researched more than what he was starting to understand that Cas fell under. He read about the coming out stories, and the decisions that explained why some people went further with transformations while others didn't. He was taken to other cultures ideas of what being transgender meant, which lead him to the prejudice, and the hate, and the violence.

He gaped at the statistic about trans women's low life expectancy, and was horrified at the stories of how many were murdered and beaten on a regular basis. He watched clips about why they fought despite the dangers, and why they'd rather be who they were—even when it was dangerous—than be forced to be someone they're not. He found the coming out stories that didn't go so well, and about the significant others that couldn't handle it.

He read about the shame many trans people felt, and the depression, and the isolation.

He watched a video about how hard it was for them to look in the mirror sometimes. And how hard it could be to finally reach a point where they were happy.

Cas's words rang in his ears then. " _I'm happy._ " At the time, he'd just kept wondering why Cas wouldn't want surgery, why she'd choose to be something she wasn't. She'd tried to tell him, to explain the difference between gender identity and sex, but he hadn't listened. Hadn't known how to.

He'd come across a video about how to be in a relationship with a trans person. How to support them, and how to love every part of them even when they hated themselves.

He wondered if it was even possible for him to treat Cas that way.

He didn't eat dinner, and he told his mother he wasn't feeling well when she knocked on his door. Instead, he pursed his lips and forced himself to search parts of the internet he'd only dropped in on for curiosity's sake previously. He wondered if the fact that he'd been curious at all said something about who he really was.

Making sure to lock his bedroom door, he plugged his headphones into his computer and gathered his courage. Because, really, after everything that Cas had been through, had fought against, the least he could do was try. For her sake. He wasn't exactly sure what he was looking for. Perhaps just some idea of what it meant to be with someone like Cas.

What it meant he had to know.

Dean's sexual experience was pretty limited, after all. To women and porn with women in them. He'd watched a few with more than two people—two men or two women with one of the "other" supposed gender also present. He'd always told himself that the reason it was okay was because there was still a woman involved, even if it was two guys making out. The territory he was in now, however, was testing his thought process. Because some of the women were beautiful, and feminine, and then they took their pants off and things turned in a whole other direction. It was strange at first, seeing a woman that also possessed male anatomy. And the way the sex worked was something he then had to pause and research, because he didn't know anything about anal sex.

He ended up watching videos into the early morning hours, only sitting back and allowing it to affect him on a more natural level once he kind of understood what was going on.

He did have a minor panic attack when his pants quickly grew tighter over the sight of the video, which resulted in some quick pacing before he sat back down.

His viewing eventually took him to full-on gay porn, without trans women involved, and he was even more shocked to realize that this turned him on just as much as any other porno he'd ever watched.

Certainly he'd always known he had great appreciation for the human form in general, but he'd never considered that he'd actually be attracted to men. Not when there were so many beautiful women around.

It was near six in the morning before he finally closed his laptop. When his mother asked if he was feeling better, he told her, quite honestly, that no, he wasn't. He stayed home and slept, though it was fitful. He didn't get up fully until near four in the afternoon, though he found—as he splashed the sleep from his face—that he felt much more stable than he had the day before.

And guilty.

There was some truth to the idea of sleeping on things. Now that he had some clarity about what was happening, it became all the more apparent to him how terribly he'd treated Cas.

How much he must have hurt her.

The time he had to fix things, or not fix them, was limited however, and as he stared out the window at Sam, who was playing in the yard with their dog, he tried to come to a decision. He didn't know if it was right, but he had to do something.

There was no reason to tell his parents that he was leaving. He simply jumped in his car and drove off. Naomi's house was only some ten minutes away, and as he pulled into the driveway, he was relieved to see she wasn't home.

That didn't stop Anna from meeting him on the porch as he climbed the stairs.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped, a spatula in her hand.

"I came to talk to Cas," he said somewhat quietly, still quite cowed over her speech the day before. Because she was right, really. He knew very little about Cas, a fact that pained him considerably.

"Why?"

He pursed his lips. "It's personal."

"Yeah, well, that's not how this works," she said shortly. "You're a straight guy who just found out his girlfriend is trans. There's no way in hell I'm just letting you go 'talk' to her." Dean was a little hurt over the implication, but then the statistics flashed through his head and he supposed he couldn't blame Anna for acting the way she was.

"Can you just tell her I'm here then?" He raised his hands as innocently as he could. "We'll stay out here on the porch, if that'll make you both feel better."

Anna narrowed her eyes, as if considering it, before huffing and turning on her heel. The screen door slammed as she retreated back into the house, Dean pacing to the banister as he willed his heart to slow its pace. No, he wasn't sure what he was doing, or what any of it said about himself, but maybe that wasn't what was important.

It was some minutes before someone finally came back out, Dean turning quickly to see who it was. His hopes were rewarded when it was Cas that stood up against the screen door. She was wearing one of her favorite spring dresses, her feet bare.

Dean ignored the urge he had to approach her, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

"Hey," was all he could think to say.

Cas glanced down at the porch. "What are you doing here, Dean?" She sounded so down, and depressed, and Dean knew it was his fault.

"I… I wanted to talk to you." He wondered, fleetingly, if Anna was standing guard inside. But, just as quickly, he decided he didn't care. "I  _need_  to talk to you, Cas."

"What about?"

He wanted to say "everything," but knew that was too overwhelming for both of them. He just had to start where he knew he could make a difference. "I'm sorry about the way I acted," he said quickly. "I was… shocked, and I shouldn't have treated you the way I did."

"It's okay, Dean," Cas still didn't look at him. "I don't blame you."

"You should," he countered quickly. "Ignorance isn't an excuse." This finally did draw her attention, those deep blues sadder than Dean had ever remembered seeing them. Or maybe he'd just never really seen Cas until that moment. Had she always been sad?

"Dean, it's alright," she tried again to assure him. "I should have told you from the beginning." Her words sounded hollow, like she was reciting something from a book, and Dean realized that none of this was how she really felt. She was relaying to him what bigoted society thought she should. She was blaming the victim. Something he might have done just a day before.

"Cas, you don't owe me any kind of explanation. You never did. Who you are and what you do with your body is your business. Don't justify yourself to anyone, let alone me." She looked away again, saying nothing, and Dean wondered at how much of what he said she actually believed. How much of what he'd always said to her—about her beauty and how much he adored her—had she constantly doubted? Had she never truly accepted his praises?

"Cas, I'm sorry," he tried again.

"Then… I forgive you, if that's what you want." She shook her head, staring once more at the porch. "I forgave you as soon as it happened. There's no reason for you to feel guilty."

But he did, and he knew she did too, and that wasn't okay.

"You can go now," she continued a second later. "I appreciate what you said, really. So please, don't feel bad anymore."

"What are you even saying?" Dean hadn't meant to sound so irritated, but he couldn't help it. It wasn't Cas he was irritated with. It was everyone else. Everyone that had done anything to her. It made him angry even standing there, imagining those situations Anna had mentioned. That someone could commit such horrors against someone he knew was better than all of them. He wanted so badly to teach those people a lesson—to teach them the same lesson he'd forced himself to learn.

"I'm sorry…" Cas muttered.

"Stop it, Cas," Dean wanted to go to her, but he was afraid of her reaction. "Stop saying you're sorry. You haven't done anything to be sorry for. It's everyone else that should be apologizing to you. You deserve so much better than what you've gotten." She deserved happiness, and love, and safety.

"I don't know what you want," she murmured, inflection finally apparent in her voice. She sounded defeated.

"I want things to go back to the way they were," he replied, his tone coming out more desperate than he'd intended. "I don't want things between us to be like this anymore."

"Dean, that's not-"

"I don't care, Cas. I don't care if you're a man or a woman or something else. And I don't care what parts you have. It doesn't matter." He did take a step forward then, those big blue eyes flicking up. "I want you, Cas, in any way I can have you."

"Dean…"

"I'm going to mess up, and say stupid, insensitive things. But I'm trying to learn. I just want to be with you. Cas, I love you."

Her lips were tight, cheeks pale, and her hands were rigid against the door. "Dean," her voice was quiet, broken, and her shoulders slumped. "I…"

Cas wasn't a crier. She never reacted to sad movies, not like Dean did, and usually kept a brave face for everything. The weekend before was the first time he'd ever seen her cry. And as he watched her then, fighting against it, he understood why.

"I love you," he repeated, finally taking his chance and stepping closer. Until only inches remained between them. Those deep, innocent, wise blue eyes trapped him there, flitting across his face as if searching for something. It was all there for her to see, everything he felt. Everything he wanted. Everything that, he realized, Cas was afraid to find.

Reaching out, he finally slipped his arms around her shoulders. He pulled her in close, his nose burying itself in her hair. There was no reaction from her at first, her body limp in his arms, but he didn't push her. Instead, he held her. He waited. And he hoped all of what he'd said was enough.

"I need you, Cas," he whispered. "I  _love you_."

It took a few moments, but she did eventually reach out to him. Her arms slipped up against his sides, her nose pressing against his shoulder. He could feel the sharpness of her fingers, like claws through his t-shirt, and it only made him hold her tighter. He wasn't going to let her go, or leave her, or betray her. Not like so many others.

"Thank you, Dean," she whispered.

"Don't thank me," he murmured, his lips grazing the side of her head. "Being loved isn't something you need to be thankful for. You deserve it, just like everyone else."

He felt her tremble against him, her face rubbing more deeply into his shirt even as she continued to say exactly what he felt she didn't need to. " _Thank you_ …"

She repeated it over and over and over again. Until her voice was so broken that she couldn't speak, and her body so weak that Dean was the only thing holding her up. Cas didn't like to be fragile. She'd always put up a strong shield, a barrier between herself and everyone around her. Dean had never pushed it, had always assumed it'd come down when she was ready. But he'd never anticipated that it'd be like this. That doing so would be so traumatic, and exhausting, that he'd end up carrying her back inside. That even as he set her down on the couch in Naomi's living room, she'd seem small and defenseless. She sat hunched on the sofa, eyes focused down on the coffee table.

So Dean pulled her in close again, and they sat together for a long time, saying nothing. Until darkness finally began to streak in through the windows, and Anna's voice roused them from their separated thoughts.

"So… I'm going to go hang out with some friends," she cleared her throat somewhat awkwardly, no longer as defensively aggressive as she had been when Dean had first come to the house. "My mom is out on business, so she's not going to be back till tomorrow morning. Um, I have my phone." She was looking directly at Cas, who finally sat up away from Dean.

"Okay," was all she said, Dean looking between them quickly. He knew what the conversation was about despite the cryptic exchange. Anna was worried, as Dean realized she probably always was about Cas. But he wasn't going to hurt her. Yet, the only way to prove that was for Anna to go. Cas was trusting him too, and he wasn't fool enough to somehow jeopardize that.

Once Anna was gone, silence fell heavily between them. They were alone, and Dean knew there was an elephant in the room despite any attempts to mend what had happened between them. Because Dean could say as many nice things as he could think of, but that didn't mean Cas had to believe him. Relationships were messy, and Cas wasn't the quiet, firm girl he'd thought she was. Not to say she wasn't those things, but there was a lot more to her than he'd imagined, specifically insecurities that she'd never even tried to discuss with him.

He knew they were there. He could see it in the way she was turned slightly away from. Head held high, she appeared confident and steadfast, but Dean was beginning to see the cracks.

"Cas." Dean cleared his throat, deciding that it was probably best to just get to the point. Cas wasn't one for reading subtle nuances. Which made sense now, he supposed. How was she supposed to trust anything implied when everyone had always ended up against her?

She slowly turned her head to look at him, blue eyes heavy.

"Look, I still feel the same way as I did before." He reached out and took her hand, which she gave into without a fight. "I won't ask you to do anything you don't want to." Her gaze fell away. "But, that doesn't mean  _I_  don't want to." This was something he'd never told her before, never thought he'd had to. Normally that kind of thing was a given, but as her attention flicked back up to him, he knew it wasn't that simple anymore. "Whenever you're ready, if you feel like I'm worth it, I'll be here."

"Of course you're worth it," she murmured, turning toward him. "But, Dean, I'm not…"

"I told you, it doesn't matter."

"You've only ever been with women."

"You  _are_  a woman," he corrected, smiling softly.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Cas, if I didn't want you just as you are, then I wouldn't be here." He reached up and ran his hand through her hair.

"But what if, once you see…"

"Cas, I'm a dude," Dean laughed. "Not like I haven't seen it all before. I promise it'll be okay. I know it's hard for you to believe that, but all I can ask is that you trust me." His hand fell away again.

Yet, as if finally giving in to her own desires, her own fingers flurried up, his shirt held in her fists as she gulped. "I want to, Dean, I've wanted to for a long time." She bit her cheek as she said as much, like she was admitting to something wrong or dirty. Probably the result of the constant shaming she'd gone through at her previous residence.

"You just give the go-ahead," Dean said, dipping his head so he could draw her attention, "and I'll be there."

It took her a moment to respond to that, Dean watching as her thoughts churned across her expression. He had the feeling he knew what she was considering, but he wasn't going to push her. It was probably hard for her to ask for such things and Dean was afraid that if he cut in and tried to form her intents for her, he'd come on too strong. He wanted to step in and fix everything, but knew better than to think that Cas's life was something he could even begin to understand. He could sympathize, but there were some things about her that would always be beyond him.

Which was why he'd offer himself as whatever support he could be.

"Could we…" she paused. "Could we right- right now?"

Dean was more than happy to go along with where this was headed. He nodded, trying to give her a softly encouraging smile despite how his body jolted with abrupt excitement. Which, he supposed, was a good sign. At least as far as Cas was concerned. He'd deal with his own apparent sexuality confusion later.

Taking both her hands in his own, he stood, their fingers twining some as he allowed her to then lead him around the couch. The house was quiet as they crept up the stairs, Dean tempering how thrilled he was about what was happening with the notion that Cas had never done this before and so he needed to stay calm. But he'd never fallen so strongly for anyone either, and he wanted, more than anything, for her to realize just how much she meant to him.

His reaction from the weekend only strengthened this need.

Cas closed her bedroom door behind them, dropping Dean's hand in the same moment. She stood with her back to him, as if gathering herself, before she turned. He could see nervousness flickering between the determination she was forcing into her expression, an internal battle over what she wanted and what she was afraid to have.

So Dean decided to start their dance. He pulled her to him, and he pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her until she was molded to him, her hands pulling at his shoulders as he wrapped his own around her waist. And when she started to pull his shirt up over his head, he helped before allowing his fingers to trail lightly up the zipper holding her dress together. Pulling it down, he slipped the straps over her shoulders, the fabric accumulating at her hips as he brushed his knuckles up her sides. Over her bra before reaching back and unsnapping the clasp. It fell away, Dean pulling her to him once again.

The contact didn't last long however, Cas gently pushing him back when his fingers began to trip along the top of her downed dress. He didn't fight her, instead catching her eyes as she took a step away from him. He could see in the stiffness of her posture that she was putting forth vast amounts of control—that it was taking everything she was to follow through with this.

"It's okay, Cas," he murmured.

"I know," she nodded, blinking despite how she took another step away from him. She wasn't running away, or backing down, but she was asking for space, which Dean was more than willing to give. And when her focus fell to the floor, and her insecurity looked like it might get the better of her, Dean pulled her attention his way again.

"We don't have to do this," he assured.

"Can you just…" she nodded toward him, her arm coming up to grip at her elbow. Dean knew what she meant however and, unsnapping the button on the front of his jeans, he pushed them down his thighs along with his boxers before kicking them to the side. Nakedness didn't unnerve him, but he knew he was in the minority as far as that sentiment. And as he followed Cas's gaze looking him up and down, he didn't bother hiding how aroused he was by what they were doing. He wanted her, and he wanted her to know that.

But she seemed frozen in front of him.

"Whatever you need," he muttered. "We can turn off the lights, or close our eyes. Whatever makes you comfortable."

"No," she shook her head. "I won't hide from you. Not anymore." As if her words had given her the courage she needed to act, she slipped her thumbs down into the fabric of her dress and pushed it downward. It fell to the ground in a heap of yellow and white fabric, Dean making sure to catch her eyes as she stood before him more undressed than she'd ever allowed before.

And when she took a deep breath before sliding the last remaining bit of her clothing from her body, Dean kept her eye contact until she glanced away. Until she gave him permission to look.

He'd kind of assumed, following his internet binge, that there'd be no reason to worry. Seeing her didn't change how he felt, physically or emotionally, and when he stepped forward and kissed her more deeply and with more intent than he ever had before, he hoped she understood.

Dean was generally the type that made it his goal to please whoever he was with. He'd been raised to treat women with respect, a sentiment that had easily transferred to his personal life.

His first night with Cas wasn't what he'd originally anticipated, but that didn't make it better or worse. He made sure to place her gingerly on the bed, and touch her in ways he knew she wanted to be touched. He made love to her and he listened as she sighed his name. He rocked with her and felt the fire flare and die with her.

He thought, maybe, that he felt the world through her. For just an instant, he knew her better than anyone else, even though she'd yet to share her past with him herself. But even if she never did, he had that moment. They both did.

And nothing—absolutely  _nothing_ —else mattered.


	19. Part 1: How It Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I've had this posted on its own for a while, but I've ultimately decided I want it here. So, sorry if you've read this piece before.
> 
> Out on a hunt, Cas and Dean end up having to share a single bed for the night, neither one content to let the other sleep on the floor.
> 
> Rated T for adult themes.

"All we have left is a single," was how it began.

"Seriously?" Dean huffed, already beat after their scuffle with some vampires. Behind him, Cas looked even worse, his shoulders slumped and heavy, tired bags under his eyes. Really, they hadn't meant to disrupt an entire nest, but Cas had chased it into an abandoned house and then one thing had led to another. Needless to say, Dean had hoped to break Cas into hunting a little slower, what with him being newly human again.

"Seriously," the clerk behind the counter mocked, looking unhappy and un-amused. Dean pursed his lips, tossing them a quick glare before glancing back at Cas, who was wavering some on his feet and sporting a torn sweatshirt. Human fatigue was something he still had trouble dealing with.

They could sleep in the car – him and Sammy had done that before – but they always woke up feeling worse than they had the night before. Really, Dean knew Cas could handle it, and that it'd probably be best if he'd toughen up a bit, but…

But it was Cas – Cas, who used to be an angel, and who'd spent millions of years not having to worry about a single scratch. Cas, who'd given all that up just to save Dean. Who'd used his grace, his lifeline, to rid him of the Mark.

No, he couldn't stand to watch Cas sleep in the car.

"We'll take it I guess," Dean sighed, pulling some cash from his wallet and lying it on the counter. The clerk took it, counted it, and then handed him a key with the room number attached. Nodding shortly, Dean headed back out the door, Cas dragging his feet ahead of him until they were outside again.

"Room 16," Dean announced. "Here, you go ahead. I'll get the bags." He handed Cas the key, who nodded silently and headed off along the building. Going to the Impala, Dean got what was necessary, including needed defense weapons, before following. When he got in the room – which was small, dirty, and had one measly full size bed in the middle of it – Dean quickly looked around, didn't see Cas, and established that he was in the bathroom. Running water affirmed this assumption, Dean setting their bags down on the floor before plopping down on the edge of the bed.

It sounded like Cas was in the shower, so Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and called Sam. Since Cas had become a human full-time, they'd realized that having all three of them on hunts was not only over-crowded, but usually unnecessary. Besides, it was good having someone back at the bunker to do research – the same way Bobby had used to. It wasn't always Sam that stayed behind, it was about half and half between him and Cas (Dean didn't like staying back), but he had for that particular trip – one they'd thought would be easy. Something Cas could handle.

Well, they'd taken out a small nest, and neither had died, so maybe that was a success of sorts.

"What's up?" Sam asked, picking up after only one ring.

"Nothing," Dean said, shrugging despite how his brother couldn't see him. "Just lettin' you know that we took care of the vamps and we'll be back in a few days." They were in southern Florida, oddly enough, but still rather removed from civilization.

"Vamps? Plural?"

"Yeah. Cas chased one and accidentally stirred up a nest. Not that it was his fault, but we took care of it, in any case."

"Nobody hurt?"

"Cas is a little more beat up than I'd like, but overall we're whole."

"I worry about him," Sam sighed. "I mean, he was an angel and stuff, but that doesn't mean he knows anything about fighting as a human. It was easy for him to throw his weight around back then, but now…"

"I know," Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "He's getting the hang of though, slowly. And we've both been working on his hand to hand, so he's not totally helpless."

"Still can't shoot very well though."

"Eh, but he sure can swing a machete," Dean laughed, but the sound was hollow. "Seriously, I mean, what are we supposed to do? Tell him he's not allowed to hunt? He'd never forgive us. He's just got a slight disadvantage because he wasn't raised in it, like us." Really, Dean wanted nothing more than to tell Cas to stay at home like a good boy and do research when they called, but he knew Cas wouldn't appreciate that. He'd spent eons as a warrior of God. He'd never allow them to shut him up, and would probably get into trouble on his own. No, it was better this way. At least then Dean could watch him.

"Yeah, I know, and I guess it's not like he's bad at it. Sometimes I just remember the old Cas, you know? The one that was always saving us."

"Yeah…" Dean gulped back his guilt.

"Hey, that's not what I meant," Sam registered his attitude right away.

"Yeah, I know," Dean straightened, taking a deep breath. "Listen, Sammy, I'm beat. I'm gonna turn in."

"Alright…" Sam didn't sound wholly convinced. "See you in a few days."

"Yeah, see you." The conversation ended shortly after, Dean staring down at his phone for just a second before shaking his head and replacing it in his pocket. It didn't matter, really, how often he pondered the fact that Cas's grace was completely gone because of him. It wouldn't change anything. The least he could do was watch over Cas as best he could until it was done – the same way Cas had for him for so many years.

With that thought in mind, he went about organizing their things, slipping Cas's toiletry supplies into the bathroom while steam wafted from behind the curtain. He didn't blame Cas for a long shower – probably helped sooth his muscles. And when he did finally emerge, draped in the clothes Dean had set on the toilet seat as well, he appeared even more exhausted than before.

Toweling his hair, it was left in a state of damp messiness as he walked across the room, feet bare beneath the sweats Dean had given him.

"Hey, I brought some food in from the car," Dean gestured to the bag sitting on the TV stand. "You should eat something." Cas nodded silently, Dean grabbing his own clothes as he headed to the bathroom (since when had they brought changes of clothes with them on hunts? They were getting old).

Dean's shower was short, to say the least. Cas had used up all the available hot water. Yet, despite how he would have berated Sam for something similar, no hard feelings arose in Dean about the situation. Rather, shivering, he quickly dried himself and slipped into his loose "bed" clothes – a sweatshirt and plaid lounge pants.

Slicking back his hair with his hand as he headed out, he glanced around immediately, yet couldn't find Cas. Not that his location was exactly in need of an investigation. The pillow and second-layer blanket missing from the bed pretty much spelled it out.

He was lying on the floor on the other side, Dean knew that. Because it was exactly like Cas to give him the bed. Sure, he'd used up the hot water, but that was unconscious thoughtlessness. Giving up the bed was different, and it panged Dean's chest despite how he tried to ignore it.

"Cas, come on," Dean said as he headed around the bed, the sight of Cas on the bare floor, pillow under his head, blanket over the rest of him, ripping at Dean's chest further. "You're not sleeping down there." Lethargic, Cas sat up, staring at Dean with his trademark curiosity. "Take the bed."

"I'm fine, Dean," Cas assured, voice as grating as it'd always been. "You can have the bed."

"Nope, come on, come on," Dean gestured down at him. "I'll sleep on the floor. I've had plenty worse, trust me."

"Exactly," Cas didn't budge. "You've slept many more nights in worse places than I ever will. You take the bed, I'll be fine."

Dean sighed. "Cas, you look like shit. Just take the bed."

Those dark eyebrows furrowed in offense.

"It was a rough hunt for you, buddy. Really, you're going to feel it in the morning if you sleep down there."

"So will you."

"Cas!" Dean growled in frustration, especially since Cas was making no attempts to move. "Look, just…" He could tell by the hard look in those tired blue eyes that nothing he said was going to convince the ex-angel. Cas could be just as stubborn as he was sometimes. "We'll meet in the middle, alright? We'll both take the bed." The suggestion slipped out of him before he could stop it, the way Cas's head cocked to the side telling him how odd it'd sounded. "Sam and I, we used to do that… sometimes," he tried to recover. "You just stay on your side, I'll stay on mine, no problem." He couldn't look at Cas anymore after that, quickly turning away in the hopes of hiding the blush that was crawling up his face.

"Are… are you sure?" Cas asked as Dean sat down on the right side of the mattress, back to the other man. "That's really not necessary…"

"Christ, Cas, it's not a big deal. Just do it, alright?" He didn't want to talk about it anymore. Instead, he yanked up the blanket still on the bed and crawled under it. All without turning to Cas. Leaning his head down on his pillow, he reached up to switch off the lamp, the room going dark as he wedged himself as close as he could to his edge of the bed.

Yet still Cas didn't move.

"Cas!" he barked, hearing the other man start before the weight on the other side of the bed finally changed. Soon he knew Cas was lying out beside him, Dean closing his eyes and forcefully trying to settle his heartbeat as Cas got comfortable. And when Cas fell asleep, he knew because of his even, steady breathing.

Leaning up in the dark, Dean turned just enough to get a look at the other man, his eyes having long since adjusted. Cas had his hands pulled up under his head, mouth hanging open slightly. It hadn't taken him long to fall asleep, and Dean smiled only shortly at the shadowed sight. It was strange, seeing Cas sleep, but a kind of peacefulness always overcame his expression when he did – something Dean had never seen on him as an angel. It was cute, really, and that thought spurred Dean to turn away again.

Lying back down, he squinted his eyes closed and tried to force sleep. It didn't come, instead leaving him to contemplate how many times he'd recently thought "Cas" and "cute" in the same moment. It wasn't what he'd call an exactly new development – rather, it'd been buried deep down in him for years, probably. But the Mark, and facing an existence of murder and death, well, it'd brought things to the surface that he would have probably never acknowledged otherwise.

One being his ignored sexuality. He'd always kind of known he'd liked guys too, but it'd been easier to ignore such in favor of women. Yet being as desperate as he'd been, and hopeless, well, he'd found himself clinging to anything he could, which had brought forth his feelings for Cas.

Feelings that had always been there, really, but that he'd pushed aside.

Now that he'd acknowledged them, however, he couldn't just shut them away again. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak, and now it was constantly clawing at his brain. Not that he had any intent of revealing his feelings to Cas. He'd only recently become a human, was still adapting. The last thing he needed was one of the only stable relationships he had being destroyed because Dean was an idiot.

No, he could live with it. When he'd had the Mark, he'd wanted nothing more than to tell him, to try at something real and that he'd never had before. But since things had calmed down, he had too. All those doubts and insecurities had come back, causing him pause. He wouldn't say he'd chickened out necessarily, he still entertained ways in which Cas would figure it out, he just hadn't taken any direct action.

Part of him, a small, teeny-tiny part, occasionally considered that Cas might feel the same way toward him. After all, the angel had given up everything for him at one time or another, his grace only being the latest sacrifice in a long list. But then other voices overcame such ideas – telling him that Cas simply held their friendship in high esteem, that he wasn't in any position to know of such things. That, as a previous angel, he didn't have a firm enough grasp on human emotion to even really know what…

No, Dean didn't want to think about it anymore. Instead, he let the thoughts buzz in the back of his mind, content to count sheep. It took until the sheep had somehow transformed into hellhounds for him to finally doze off, the next thing he registered being the slotted morning sunlight shifting in through the blinds.

Dean could tell, before he'd even opened his eyes, how sore he was. Really, he  _was_  getting old. It used to be he could collapse in his jeans and be up and jumping the next day. Yet here he was now, cuddled up in a blanket practically wearing pajamas, not wanting to open his eyes. The bed wasn't even that comfortable. But the sun was warm on his back and there was a heavy heat beside him, the two holding him together in a forced sense of refuge. It was just easier to keep sleeping.

That was, until Dean remembered what it was, exactly, that was beside him giving off that heat.

Lashes flicking open quickly, Dean felt his heart surge in his throat, a wave of panic washing through him as he considered all the horrible things that could have happened in the night.

But even as fast as it'd come, the feeling was gone. Because, though he was facing Cas now, they weren't touching. The space between them was small, but nothing nefarious had happened. Rather, Cas slept on still, Dean settling back into the pillow as he watched him.

Watched his easy breathing, his calm expression. It was comforting, really. Because Cas had always been a comfort to be around, like a powerful security blanket. Or so he'd seemed initially. Someone who could show up whenever they called and take care of business. Things had changed since then – since Cas had been that regal, oblivious angel of the lord. But that sense of comfort hadn't faded. Maybe Cas was weaker now, and the one who was in need of physical protection, but Dean still felt safe when he was around. If only because Cas was his best friend, was emotionally secure. They'd had their rough patches, but they'd made it through and become stronger because of it. Dean trusted Cas explicitly, and with more of himself then he had anyone.

Which was maybe part of the reason why it was hard to express how he really felt. Because if Cas didn't feel the same, part of that trust would be broken.

Quite out of his control, Dean smiled, watching as Cas's nose curled up on itself. He was waking up, the sun shining across his face, and part of Dean warned himself to get up. To not be there, staring, when those blue eyes fluttered open.

But he didn't – honestly didn't want to – and so when Cas did finally open his eyes, they were still face to face, some six or seven inches between them.

"Morning," Dean managed to garble out, his voice still heavy with leftover sleep.

Cas didn't reply initially, instead closing his eyes again as, like a cat, the rest of his body gradually stretched beneath the covers. Until his neck was straining and his shoulders were popping, arm pulling up into the air.

Dean smiled a little more.

"Good morning, Dean," Cas finally managed to get out, eyes flicking open once again as his body collapsed back into the bed. They stared at each other for a moment, neither making any motion to move, and Dean tried to ignore the swelling in his chest. The part of him that wanted to wake up like this every morning.

"Feeling better?" Dean asked. "You looked pretty beat yesterday."

"I suppose," Cas shrugged against the mattress. "Having a human body sometimes makes me feel like I'm constantly 'beat.' I'm not accustomed to such human ailments as stretched muscles and… arthritis." He bent his wrist then, eyebrows furrowing.

"You have arthritis?"

"In my wrist, yes. From an accident Jimmy had when he was seventeen, which resulted in a broken bone. It only acts up occasionally, but I landed on it improperly yesterday when that vampire threw me on the ground." He frowned, Dean feeling guilty.

"Sorry it took me so long to get in there," Dean found himself saying suddenly, nose burrowing some into the pillow as he stared at Cas through one eye. "I shouldn't have let you go after it alone."

"Why not?" Cas frowned. "Would you and Sam have done it differently?" He was oblivious, unaware that Dean was simply being overprotective.

"No, I just… never mind." Finally, Dean supposed this "waking up together" thing had gone on long enough. It was just a farce after all, at least for Dean, and he needed to stop pretending. Leaning up, the bed creaked beneath him, blanket falling away as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Hey, Dean?" Cas hadn't risen, instead reaching out and tugging lightly on the bottom of Dean's sweatshirt. Eyebrows raised, Dean was all attentiveness. "I'm hungry."

Dean smiled again.

"Yeah, okay," he reached out and clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Lucky for you then that getting this single room gives us enough spare cash to go out for breakfast."

Cas smiled then too, because it meant they got more than the junky snack foods they carried in the Impala.

They were soon dressed and packed back up, checking out before climbing into the car. It was strange, seeing Cas out of his coat and suit, but he sported t-shirts and plaid like him and Sam more often than not those days. Mostly at Dean's expense. Sam's clothes were too big for him, but Dean's fit well enough. Which meant the two had kind of started sharing. Sure, they could go out and buy Cas his own clothes, but they simply hadn't gotten around to it. And Cas hadn't complained. Rather, though Dean's wardrobe had suffered for it, what Cas had been wearing he'd just collected and kept – not even said a word about it.

When they were on the road together, however, this sometimes got a little mixed up. Because, at the moment, Dean was pretty sure Cas was wearing the blue over-shirt he'd packed for himself. But like he had when he'd been an angel, Cas had just gone through Dean's bag and taken it, as if his own stuffs had, for whatever reason, been inadequate.

Dean didn't complain however.

They went to breakfast at a small diner near the coast, more in town than their hotel had been. It was set up in a fifties fashion, Cas claiming a window seat where he could stare out at the beach while they waited. The food was fine, though a little pricier than Dean would have liked, but he didn't tell Cas that. Not with how much he was enjoying his pancakes. Rather, Dean handed over the money when it came time and ignored the suggestive look their waiter gave them when they didn't split the bill.

Cas didn't notice.

It was going to take them almost a full day's worth of driving to get back to the bunker, which meant at least one more night in a hotel. Dean could try and drive all the way, or sleep while Cas drove and vice versa, but they were in no great hurry, so he didn't push it. Instead, he enjoyed the view, watching as Cas rolled the window down and watched the landscape fly by.

At one point, Cas said something along the lines of "human's see so little of what's really there, but it's almost… nice. How simple things are."

Dean had smiled, and patted him on the shoulder again. Because he really did take any chance he could to touch Cas.

They decided to stop for the night somewhere in the back roads of Mississippi (Dean rarely took the highway unless he needed to get somewhere in a hurry). The hotel was in a little podunk town in a humid, swampy area, but it was just the place where Dean felt most comfortable.

Pulling into the drive, he was shutting off the engine and reaching for his wallet when Cas turned to him.

"How much money do we have?"

"Uh," Dean counted. "About a hundred bucks. Why?"

"If we get a single room again, will we be able to afford breakfast?" His eyes had narrowed, Dean almost seeing the logic whirring behind them. Because if Cas was fond of anything as a human, it was food. One of the few things he could enjoy more without his grace.

"Uh, depends," Dean replied. "Sometimes singles cost the same as twins, sometimes they don't. Varies from place to place." He wasn't entirely sure what to make of Cas's question, and decided that focusing on it probably wasn't best.

"You should get whatever is cheapest," he decided. "Then we can get breakfast."

"Ah…" Did Dean want to bring up the big variable in this situation? Because it was one thing to share a bed when they had no choice and quite another to do so willingly. Yet, apparently, it hadn't bothered Cas one bit. Not that anything within human societal norms ever really did.

Except for porn. Though it didn't seem to bother Cas so much as illicit comments like "that's inappropriate." Like he was stating the obvious. Which was probably Dean's fault.

"I'll ask… I guess…"

"Good," Cas nodded, reaching out to open the passenger door.

"But!" Dean grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him back, and those blue eyes turned his way again. "You better wait here. Sometimes these backwater places aren't too friendly towards… towards…" Dean forced himself to say it, "two men sharing a room. If I do get a single, it'll probably be best that they don't know you're with me."

"Oh…" Cas's eyebrows furrowed. "Alright."

Nodding tightly, Dean ignored the redness in his cheeks as he left the car. Stuffing his wallet in his coat, he walked along the building to the front entrance, an older man sitting behind the counter.

"Evenin,'" is what he said to Dean as he entered, folding his newspaper and setting it down as he did.

"Evening," Dean repeated. "Got anything available?"

"Sure, sure," the man nodded, stroking his beard.

"What's cheapest?"

"Eh, low on customers tonight, so all rooms are going for the same. Sixty flat."

"Alright. Just a twin then." Dean ignored how his throat tried to fight his words. How they had to claw their way up past "single" because Cas would never even know. But Dean couldn't do that – just the thought made him feel like he was taking advantage of his best friend.

"Sure, bub," the guy nodded, taking Dean's money before handing him a key and room number. Nodding once, Dean headed back out the door, gesturing to Cas when he passed the car. Their bags in hand, Cas locked up behind him and trailed Dean to their room.

When the lights were flicked on to reveal the two beds, Dean ignored how his heart fell and the way Cas went on about business as if there was nothing to be upset about. Feeling as though his attitude was clearly obvious, Dean retreated to the bathroom first, closing Cas out as he tried to shake off his negativity in the shower. Really, he didn't need to shower – they hadn't even done anything that day – but it was an excuse.

When he was finished, he came out to find Cas already dressed in his sweats, sitting on the end of the bed closest to the television.

That was another thing Cas loved – TV. Food and TV.

"That show you like is on," he said quite simply, Dean's bare feet padding against the floor as he came over to stand at the corner of the bed. "Dr. Sexy."

"Oh, yeah," Dean grinned, wondering what it meant that if he'd been with Sam, he'd have felt self-conscious about such a thing, but with Cas he didn't. Not that it said something negative about Sam – they picked on each other equally for their "odd" interests – but with Cas he knew he didn't have to consider that. Because Cas didn't care one way or another.

"I don't quite understand what's happening however," Cas continued. "The story eludes me." Because Cas's head had been filled with books by Metatron, not television shows.

"Ah…" Dean watched the episode for a moment. "Oh, Dr. Sexy was caught with a patient by his girlfriend, who dies next season, and she thought he was cheating on her, but really he was just, ya know, doing doctor things, and now they're mad at each other, but they have to do this brain surgery together and things are all messed up."

"Oh…" Cas leaned back slightly. "You know," he cocked his head to the side thoughtfully, staring up at Dean, "I feel as though much of the drama on television could be alleviated if the characters simply spoke plainly to each other. They're constantly keeping secrets and telling lies, even if with good intentions."

"Well, I think that's where the drama thing comes from."

"I certainly hope humans in real life are more prone to actual communication. If Dr. Sexy would simply tell his girlfriend how much she really means to him, then she'd have no reason to be insecure about what she saw."

"Well… yeah," Dean agreed as Cas turned back to watch the show again. "But… that's not always as easy as you'd think."

"Why not?" Cas's eyes were on him again. "She clearly likes him, and he likes her."

"It's usually more complicated than that, Cas," Dean muttered, turning toward his own bed. "It's… a lot harder to say those things out loud than you think." Dean knew that better than anyone.

"Perhaps," Cas sighed. "I supposed having not been born a human, I can't totally understand. I try to be straightforward."

"Yeah, we know," Dean laughed a bit, reflecting on Cas's forthright bluntness. Yet, in the same moment, his heart squirmed in his chest. Certainly, if that was how Cas really looked at things, then he'd have told Dean if he had feelings of the romantic sort for him. But he hadn't. Which meant that…

That he probably didn't feel that way. They really were just friends.

Not that Dean had been expecting much more.

"I'm gonna go to bed," he said a moment later, not turning to catch those blue eyes. "You can keep the light on and the television and stuff. It won't bother me." Pulling up the blanket, he slid into the covers, unconsciously scooting to the far right side of the bed. As far from Cas as he could get. He didn't know those blue eyes watched him the whole time, and even if he had, he wouldn't have known what to make of them. Instead, despite his lack of fatigue, he tried to will himself to sleep.

It didn't work however, Dean still awake twenty minutes later when Cas turned in as well. Room silent and dark, all Dean could hear was his own breathing against Cas's. He wondered if the other man was asleep, but didn't dare look. Instead, blinking into the nothingness, he allowed the weight on his chest to get heavier and heavier.

Hours stretched by, Dean unable to sleep no matter how many hellhounds he counted, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Cas abruptly spoke.

"Dean? Are you awake?" His voice rumbled from the other side of the room, Dean biting his lower lip as he considered whether to answer or not. Ultimately, he decided there was no reason he shouldn't, yet still a strange jolt ran through him as he opened his mouth. Like he was puncturing some strange atmosphere that fogged something he couldn't quite see.

"Yeah, Cas, I'm awake." He didn't turn over as he spoke, merely continued facing away, and didn't know what to think when Cas gave no response. He would have half expected some harebrained question about cats or bees or some other nonsense, but he got nothing.

Until he heard Cas's bed shifting, the mattress creaking as he made some great adjustment. Dean felt his whole body freeze up with tension, especially when he registered the sound of Cas's body lifting entirely before the weight on Dean's mattress dipped. The left side, Dean's eyes widening as he became even stiffer.

Cas lay down beside him without saying a single word. Dean could feel him pulling his blanket up, and knew when he'd finally settled. The bed they were in was even smaller than the full they'd shared the night before however, and Dean knew without a doubt that there was barely even half a foot between them.

He didn't know what to do. Because what did this even mean? There were two beds, obviously, but Cas was willingly coming over to his. The more masculine section of Dean's defenses wanted to turn over and question it. To tell Cas to go back because sharing such a small space probably wouldn't end up being all that comfortable. Yet he didn't. A year ago, that was probably what he'd have done – because sharing a bed with another man wouldn't have been okay. No matter how much he'd wanted it. But now…

Now he was torn between wanting it so badly and being afraid of what it meant. Certainly Cas had to know – this wasn't something he hadn't learned yet. People didn't just sleep together in the same bed unless they had to or were choosing to for personal reasons. He had to realize that. It was like humanity 101. Or at least Dean's humanity 101, which was what Cas had been learning.

He was afraid to question it though – afraid of the answer he'd get. He wanted Cas there, and was completely torn between immature excitement and drudging apprehension.

Which was why, for a minute, he did nothing. He offered no reaction.

He barely even breathed.

But he could hear and feel Cas beside him, the easy rhythm of his breaths and his heated presence. And not for the first time he wanted nothing more than to be as close to him as possible, to take that all in for himself.

It was hard, actually, having Cas there and not being able to allow himself that. It wasn't even a sexual thing, not really. More than any such notions, he just wanted to touch his fingers to Cas's skin, to feel that warmth and count heartbeats with his own. To inhale that familiar smell of rain in the morning mixed with used cotton. It wasn't much really, not on the surface, but to Dean it could mean risking one of the only real, meaningful relationships he had.

Yet, was the risk worth it? How much longer could he really go on pretending like there was nothing? Because Cas had come over on his own, and he had to know that there were implications behind such an action.

He couldn't be that oblivious.

He  _couldn't_  be.

Maybe it was the tight nausea in his stomach, or just sheer desperation with Cas so close, but something in Dean snapped. His control, maybe. Because soon he was sitting up, the blanket still partway over him as he turned to looked down at Cas. Whose eyes were closed even though there was no way he could possibly be asleep already. But Dean was thankful that he pretended –it made everything easier on him. Easier as he watched Cas's chest slowly, steadily move beneath the covers, not a single hitch. As if this whole situation were nothing. Not big deal at all.

But it was. It was one of the biggest deals ever between them. Silently gulping, Dean ignored the way his whole body sweat with his nerves, instead slowly sinking back down. Until he was flat on his back, his shoulder within mere inches of Cas.

Taking a deep breath, one he was sure was louder than any breath he'd ever taken in his whole life, he hesitantly turned toward the other man. He didn't dare put his face directly in front of Cas's, but he did get a good look at his chest. Hands shaking, he reached out. Until the fabric of Cas's t-shirt was under his fingers, riding against his palms as he dared brush his whole hand across Cas's chest.

And because Cas wasn't asleep, and knew exactly what was going on, he lifted his arm as Dean's hold slid from his chest to his side. Until Dean was running his hold around Cas's back, his whole body scooting closer so his nose was buried in Cas's chest.

Dean closed his eyes, a relieved, excited wave rushing through him as Cas's arms then reached around him. They held him closer, wrapping around his shoulders as their blanketed legs knocked together. But even though there were still layers of fabric between them, and Cas's chin only touched the very tips of Dean's hair, it was still one of the most intimate physical connections Dean had ever experienced.

Because Cas was his best friend, was family, and meant more to Dean than almost anyone. And he was there, he was letting Dean do this – maybe even wanting him to – and that meant something.

Unconsciously rubbing his nose further into Cas's chest, Dean's thrill eventually faded into a heavy throb, one that, though present, was calmer. Calm enough to finally let him sleep.

He slept more soundly that night than he had in years.


	20. Part 2: The Middle Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2/3: Out on a hunt, Cas and Dean end up having to share a single bed for the night, neither one content to let the other sleep on the floor.
> 
> Rated M for sexual content.

What woke Dean the following morning renewed his nerves within the span of a single second. It didn't register at first, what was happening. One second he'd been warm and comfortable, mouth hanging open against Cas's shirt, and the next he'd been cold and exposed. Cas had gotten up, and Dean's eyes had fluttered open as soon as the bathroom door had closed.

Surging up in bed, he huffed a heavy breath, the morning sky outside cloudy and leaving their hotel room dimmed. Blinking, Dean wiped the sleep from his eyes, his legs still tangled in the blankets as he tried to re-establish what had happened.

Cas had climbed into bed with him, and then they'd cuddled. At Dean's volition. All. Night. Long. Dean, who didn't usually like cuddling. Who only ever did it when someone else initiated it.

What did that mean? Should he say something about it? What should he say?

Before he could even narrow himself down to a point however, Cas was coming back out, blue meeting wide, scared, shocked green before Dean was ready.

Cas paused, looking him up and down before speaking. "Good morning, Dean," was all he said, Dean's focus darting down to the dark wet spot on Cas's gray shirt. Because, oh God, he'd drooled on him.

"Uh…" Dean felt that his voice hardly existed in that moment.

"It's nearly eight-thirty," Cas continued on easily. "If you're awake, then we should go get breakfast. I'm hungry." Because Cas was always hungry.

"Ah…" Dean blinked. "S-sure, I guess…"

"Good," Cas smiled just slightly, choosing that moment to glance down at his shirt and notice the wet spot. Eyebrows furrowing, he reached up and fingered it, Dean gritting his teeth against his humiliation. Cas just shrugged however, not bothered by it, and walked across the room to their bags, which were sitting atop the refrigerator cabinet. Still unsure what to make of the situation, Dean watched him. Watched as he pulled out the same clothes he'd been wearing yesterday and headed back into the bathroom.

It wasn't until the bathroom door clicked closed again that Dean finally let his shoulders fall. Not that he was in any way more relaxed for it. Rather, throwing the blanket away, he jumped to his feet. Going quickly to his own bag, he tore into it, taking the first set of decent clothes he could find. Changing quicker than he ever had in his life, he was soon dressed, about to pull on his boots when his phone rang.

Looking for any possible distraction, his hand shot out to retrieve it from where he'd set it beside the television the night before. Cas's phone was there too, but he decided not to think about that.

It was Sam, of course.

"Hey," Dean tried to sound as casual as he could, swallowing when his voice came out a higher register as usual.

"Morning!" Sam sounded far too awake. "I was hoping you'd be up by now. Where are you guys?" Right to the point.

"Mississippi."

"Oh, great," Dean could hear Sam's smile over the phone. "I just got wind of another case in southern Louisiana." Which meant that, logically, they should head that way before they came home. "Nothing huge, sounds like a run-of-the-mill ghost, but it's already killed three people."

"Oh…" Dean wasn't sure if he wanted to stay on the road with Cas or not. But what was he supposed to say? "Well, I'd say 'awesome,'" he ran through his excuses, functioning on autopilot, "but I'm kind of out of money." He had a grand back at the bunker, but had only brought six hundred with him to Florida. Money went fast, and when they had a "home" to go back to, they avoided carrying around huge amounts of cash if they could.

"Oh…" Sam was surprised, as he should be. They didn't normally run out of money, but Cas liked to eat out (and as if Dean was really going to say no). "Well, can't you just go win some tonight?"

"I have to  _have_  money, Sam, in order to  _hustle_  money," Dean found himself gradually falling back into his normal attitude, talking to Sam easing his mood considerably. Because that was  _normal_ , and worrying about a case was  _normal_  – unlike sleeping in the same tiny bed with Cas. Willingly.

"Thank you, because I had no idea," Sam was not amused and Dean, placing his phone between his shoulder and cheek, sat down on the edge of "Cas's" bed and started to pull on his boots. "Well, someone has to go after it, we can't just leave it. It seems like such a waste for you to come all the way back here first though, especially since a ghost is something easy that Cas could help with."

"Well, I've got, like, forty bucks, so…" Dean tied his shoelaces.

"We have a bank account, you know," Sam said then, Dean furrowing his brows. "I don't usually keep much in it, but I can go deposit some cash and then you can take it out."

"I didn't know we had a bank account," Dean was finishing up with his last boot. "Like, one we share?"

"I guess. It's under our real names. It's a chain bank, one that's all over the country. I can't quite remember which one, but I have all the info written down. I'll text it to you." He said as much as though the whole situation were already final – like Dean had no choice but to go. Which, really, he didn't. There was no reason why they shouldn't and he'd run out of what few excuses he'd had.

"Alright. Where in Louisiana are we headed?" It was then that Cas chose to walk out into the main room, eyebrows furrowed as he overheard Dean's question. Remaining focused however, Dean waved him off and listened as Sam gave him the location. By the time he had the info they'd need, Cas had pulled on his own boots and packed most of their stuff.

"Another case?" he asked as Dean hung up the phone, their gazes snapping together as Cas zipped up his bag.

"Uh, yeah," Dean nodded, unsure what to make of Cas's casual attitude. It was too easy to just ignore what had happened. They shouldn't be ignoring it, right? "Down in Louisiana. Sounds like it's just a vengeful spirit, but it's killed three people. Should probably take care of it before it gets the chance at anyone else." Cas was nodding along, looking away as he grabbed his cell phone and slung his bag over his shoulder.

"First, though, is breakfast," Cas made perfectly clear, holding Dean's bag out to him. Standing, Dean reached out to take it, unsure what to make of the easy smile that only momentarily crossed Cas's face. There wasn't much time for pondering however. Because soon they were headed out the door, Cas's unusually chipper attitude calming Dean's nerves a bit. He seemed to be in a good mood, and that could only be a good thing when considering. Or so Dean tried to reason.

He chatted about the room, and how small the bathroom had been. About what had happened during Dr. Sexy, and how ridiculous he still thought it was. Dean listened silently, taking solace in the familiar sound of his voice. Sometimes he didn't know what to think of Cas, really. Because he'd once been this stone of a thing that had stood so firm, but then he'd been this loosy-goosy crazy guy too, and sometimes Dean lost track of all the bits and pieces of him that existed. None of those parts had ever gone away, they were still there, and it was in moments such as then – simple and seemingly meaningless – that Dean was reminded of such. Because Cas had been a protective embrace that had pulled him in all night long without a single word, but now he was like a little kid talking about their first day of school, and Dean adored that.

He really, really did. It brought a slight smile to his face, his nervousness from earlier finally fading into mostly nothing. Because Cas was safe, and he trusted him, and he was making it easy.

So very,  _very_  easy.

They stopped for breakfast at a small restaurant on the outskirts of a small town. It had a homey feel, and the waitresses were garbed in traditional yellow dresses with white aprons. Seated along the windows (because Cas always preferred he windows), they breezed through the menus and ordered, the woman waiting on them a friendly blonde with too much makeup. It was almost endearing however, because she was obvious vibrant and comfortable with it, and Dean supposed he could respect that.

"She seems nice," Cas mentioned off-handedly, chin in his hand as he stared out the window.

"Yeah, friendly, small-town type," Dean agreed, perusing the menu again despite having already ordered.

"Do you like her?"

"What?" The question caught Dean off-guard, attention snapping up to find Cas staring at him curiously, head cocked to the side.

"The waitress," Cas reiterated, eyebrows pushing together some. "She's pretty."

"Ah…" So much for feeling comfortable. "She's not… really my type." Dean fingered the menu, glancing across the nearly empty restaurant to where their waitress was standing at the bar.

"What's your type?"

Dean wanted to snap out something about Cas's sudden interest, but then the predicament from the morning flashed through his head and he couldn't. Rather, he felt obligated to answer, his thoughts rushing in his attempts.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "That's kind of a tough question."

"No it's not," Cas defended. "What is it you find attractive in people?"

Dean tried not to linger on Cas's use of "people" instead of "women."

"Lots of things, Cas," Dean almost scoffed. "You oversimplify it." This earned him brow furrow, and he sighed. "People are complex, you know? And your question is too broad." He looked to Cas again, whose eyes had squinted thoughtfully. His blue eyes flicked up to the ceiling, portraying his thoughtfulness, and Dean almost rolled his eyes at how exposed his expressions always were. "Openness," Dean said quite abruptly, Cas looking back to him. "That's important. Someone who doesn't hide what they're thinking – I do that enough on my own. Does that answer your question?"

Cas smiled. "I don't think you hide as much as you think you do." Dean pursed his lips at this, a slight flush gracing his cheeks. Before he could comment however, Cas continued. "What about physically? That should be easy."

Dean shrugged. "I'm open to just about anything." Cas didn't look convinced and Dean groaned. "I don't know. I guess…" He scaled through all the women he'd ever been with – the ones he could remember. A select few stood out in his head. "Tanner, I guess," Cassie, Lisa.  _Cas_. "Dark hair, big eyes. I dunno, normal stuff." He'd looked back down at the menu, not willing to face Cas's gaze. Mostly because he knew he was describing his best friend as well. And, maybe, had they not slept in each other's arms all night, that wouldn't matter. But they had, so it did. Because Cas had that naturally tanned hue and dark, nearly black hair. Plus, the added bonus of deep, deep, big blue eyes, which wasn't the most common combination.

Yeah, Cas was definitely his "type," so to speak, or at least his vessel was. But since Cas was human, perhaps it didn't count as his vessel anymore. It was just him – no one else was in there after all.

"Is that it?"

"You're being obnoxious," Dean finally was getting somewhat irritated.

"It's just a question."

"Are you two fighting?" Their waitress had come up on their table, food in hand that was soon set down before them each respectively. "That would be too bad," she frowned. "You two are adorable."

"What?" Dean snapped up to her, eyes wide.

"Thank you." Cas took it all in stride of course, already forking some hash browns into his mouth.

"How long have you two been together?" Dean's eyes widened even more, cheeks paling. It was bad enough when him and Sam got confused for a couple, but him and Cas too? Couldn't two guys just have a meal together? "I mean," the waitress had caught Dean's expression, "it's obvious by the way you two look at each other."

"What is?" Cas cocked his head.

"Well… that you've been together a long time," she seemed somewhat caught by Cas's question, Dean still trying to recover.

"Ah, I see," Cas nodded. "We have known each other near seven years now. A lot to you, perhaps, but it hasn't seemed too long to me." Dean caught that least, unsure what to make of it.

"That is a long time!" the waitress blundered on. "Wow, how serious." She winked at them, Dean feeling abruptly sick. "What good news. Especially with the way marriage is changing around the country lately."

Yeah, Dean was mortified.

"Marriage?" Cas was clearly confused.

"Well, yeah, I mean-"

"Miranda!" someone shouted from the back of the restaurant. "Order up."

"Oh right, coming!" Their waitress dashed off, Cas's perplexed eyes turning to Dean a second later.

"What did she mean by-"

"Nothing, Cas. Eat your food," Dean ordered out shortly, the severity of his tone clearly offending his friend, who leaned back with a frown. Dean had little patience with which to care however, far too busy trying to grapple with what had just happened. Logic told him not to freak out – that him and Sam had dealt with the same issue on numerous occasions. Yet still his heart beat fast in his chest, especially when the affronted thoughtfulness cleared from Cas's face in a sudden moment of clarity.

Because he'd finally caught up.

Swallowing hard, Dean ignored Cas's gaze on him, which flicked away just as quickly, and stabbed at one of his sausages. Their breakfast was silent, and when they'd finished and headed back to the car, Dean turned the music up loud enough to almost drown his thoughts – which made conversation near impossible. Cas didn't push him however. Rather, like some kind of hippy teenager, he rolled down the window, removed his boots and socks, and slouched down in the seat. His feet were pulled up, heels on the edge of the window and blocking out Dean's view of the mirror.

He wasn't sure whether to be insulted by Cas's strange posture or to laugh. So he didn't do anything. He let Cas's feet hang out the window as the summer wind whipped through the car, the sun beating down on them through the black exterior.

Cas was prone to falling asleep in cars however, and so his eyes gradually slipped closed, occasionally squinting open when they hit a bump in the road. The leather seats and the way Cas was sitting weren't exactly proactive to such states however, his body slipping sideways the longer he dozed off. Until, much to Dean's blanking thoughts, his head ended up cradled in the nook between Dean's hip and thigh. Which stopped any sideways progression.

Dean considered waking him fully, telling him to sit up, but when he looked down – saw the way the sunlight shooting through the clouds danced over his easy expression, shadowed sometimes in shapes and shades that added a whole new layer of intrigue (okay, beauty) to his features – he found that he couldn't. Didn't want to, really. So he let Cas nap with his head in his lap, the empty road wide and beckoning before them.

It was nice, really. The lazy way in which the drive seemed to lull. Dean with one hand on the wheel, Cas's feet propped out the window. The wind sifting through their hair as the music beat around them. As if everything both good and familiar had found a way to wedge itself between Mississippi and southern Louisiana. Even Dean's hand, which eventually fell to Cas's disheveled hair, felt simply  _right_. His fingers lightly massaged Cas's scalp, the other man sighing only once as he did, no other comment or objection offered.

The drive wasn't terribly long – maybe six or seven hours – and it was only late afternoon by the time they were pulling into the small town that Sam had sent them too. Dean located one of the banks in the chain Sam had singled out, finally having to nudge Cas into sitting up before he headed inside. He didn't say anything as he exited the car, thankful when Cas didn't follow. The time it took for him to get the cash was a blessing, really, because it gave him the chance to gather himself. Between that morning and then having Cas's head in his lap, he was running a little thin.

But it was thin in the best way possible – because he was getting to be close to Cas, even if he didn't know what it meant.

"Okay," Dean said as he slipped back into the car, not looking directly at Cas as he started the engine. "We're back on track as far as money," he could see that Cas had re-placed his shoes on his feet, "so we should probably go figure out where we're going to stay and then organize what we know. I figure we can go question the families of the victims tomorrow, see if we can figure out any patterns." Cas was nodding, Dean pulling them back out onto the road.

"We should get dinner too," Cas added.

"Man, and I thought I was a food junky." Dean allowed himself a small laugh.

"Food is delicious," Cas shrugged, frowning. "Excuse me."

Dean rolled his eyes in a very obvious manner.

The hotel they decided on was near the center of the small town, close to the police station. Gathering their bags, they headed into the lobby to finalize their plans, a small, curly haired woman greeting them with an over-the-top smile.

"We'll probably be here a few days," Dean was saying as he pulled out the selected fake IDs they'd be using for the duration of their stay. "What do you have available?"

"It's early in the day, so whatever you want," she was practically bouncing over the counter.

"Prices?" Dean quirked an eyebrow.

"Sixty for a single, seventy for a double, and eighty for a twin." She held up two fingers then, as if to reiterate her point.

"What's the difference between a double and a twin?" Cas asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Single is for one person," Dean clarified off-handedly. "Double is a bigger bed – for couples. Twin is the two beds." Cas "ohhhed" in understanding, once again able to say he'd learned something new. Not that such was rare. Cas learned something new almost every day. "We'll take the twin," Dean continued on then, the girl about to nod,

until Cas interrupted her.

"That's so much more expensive," he objected, Dean turning to him quickly. He wanted to have a quick retort, a correction, but none came to his tongue. Rather, his lips fell open silently, eye blinking at Cas stupidly.

"Well, you could get the single and then we could roll a cot in, if you're looking to save. Cot's ten more." She held up both hands then, one with a single finger and the other making an "o." "That'll take it down to seventy."

Dean tried to say that was fine, but Cas was speaking before he could get the words out.

"How much bigger is the double than the single?"

"Uh, the single I think is a twin size and the doubles are queens."

"We'll just take one of the doubles," Cas decided, the girl furrowing her eyebrows as she considered the financial logic of this. "No cot," was the last thing Cas added, which seemed to clear up her confusion. Her eyes then darted between them, Dean pretty sure there was a wave of redness rising up through his neck as he continued to silently blink at Cas. Cas, who seemed to register his shock and removed his wallet from his hand and counted out the seventy to give the clerk.

"Oh… okay," the girl smiled, a knowing look entering her gaze as she retrieved the appropriate key and room number. "Have a nice stay." Cas nodded, taking the key before turning to Dean. Dean, who had clamped his mouth shut almost rebelliously. Cas wasn't the least bit fazed by it however, soon turning away and heading out the door. Dean continued to stand, eventually flicking his attention to the clerk.

She smiled – it looked almost encouraging – and Dean felt his humiliation sink in all over again. Shoulders slumped, he turned quickly away, finally heading out after Cas. Resituating his bag on his shoulder, he kept a fair distance between them as they walked along to the backside of the building, where their room was located.

Cas pushed his way in easily, no hesitation as he did. Dean, however, stood in the doorway, looking in at the well-kept room with a sense of daunting expectation. He should have said something – should have insisted on a twin – but hadn't. He'd kept quiet, and now he was looking at a queen sized bed made for more than one body, the fact that Cas had chosen such an outcome sending his heart to his throat.

Okay, whatever, he wasn't going to think about it. Huffing, Dean finally entered, closing the door behind him. Avoiding so much as looking at the bed, he set his bag beside the small table in front of the window before sitting down. Silent, he kicked off his boots, pulled out his laptop, and settled in for a few hours of voluntary research he normally wouldn't have been happy to indulge in. They had a case, after all, and that required an investigation.

He just needed to focus on that.

Cas had a laptop too, and after he'd set his own stuff down on the other side of the room, he joined Dean at the small table. He said nothing however, his silence something Dean found himself appreciating for what felt like the billionth time in the last few days. Which was when it finally occurred to him that Cas was doing it on purpose.

He knew Dean was uncomfortable and was staying quiet because of it.

Dean wasn't sure whether to be comforted by this notion or not. Mostly it just confused him, so he pushed it away as he'd been doing everything that day, ignoring the fact that he'd have to face it eventually. Instead, what few words they did finally exchange related only to the case, which managed to preoccupy them for a few hours. Until Cas couldn't quell his hunger any longer and decided to head across the street to the burger chain there. Dean gave him a general gist of what he wanted and they ended up eating over their laptops. Until finally afternoon had progressed into evening, Cas closing his laptop as the clock ticked to nine.

"I'm going to take a shower," he announced, Dean nodding, actually invested in one of the articles Sam had sent him about the most recent murder. He didn't glance up until the sound of spraying water drifted from the bathroom, his eyes unintentionally landing on the bed.

Lips pursing, Dean pulled himself back to his computer, finally at the end of what they had to look at. Still, he re-read as much as he could, even if his thoughts were mostly preoccupied with trying to  _be_  preoccupied. Cas was notorious for long showers however, and didn't reemerge until forty-five minutes later. Steam rolling from the bathroom and dressed in Dean's old sweats, he looked over to see his companion exactly where he'd left him. He shrugged, the rather personal silence between them continuing as Dean stared even more intently at his computer.

A few more minutes passed and Cas finally cleared his throat to initiate speech.

"I'm going to bed," his deep voice nearly caused Dean to jump. Supposing he ought to do something, Dean sniffed in response. It was still pretty early – just barely ten – but they'd be up early with their monkey-suits investigating, so it was probably smarter to turn in early. Still, Dean tried to postpone it as long as possible, another half an hour passing with Cas already in bed before he finally – hesitantly – took in the sight of the bed again.

The lone bed, Cas already up under the covers, facing away. He'd adopted the left side, the same side he'd slept on the two other nights they'd shared a bed, and it dawned on Dean that a habit was forming. Cas got the left side, he got the right.

How fucking domestic.

Gulping back his anxiety, Dean finally snapped his laptop closed. Pushing it away, he then reached down into his bag and pulled out his "bed clothes." Changing, he spent a few minutes in the bathroom with his toothbrush before finally deciding there was nothing else he could do to waste time. The final act – turning off the light – took only a second, Dean allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he approached "his" side of the bed.

Running his tongue along the fronts of his top teeth, he stared at it for a moment, eventually scolding himself for being such a chicken-shit. With little in the way of delicate handling (because he was a man, dammit! And men did everything rough and tumble), he pulled up the blankets and slipped onto the mattress. Facing away from Cas, he forcefully closed his eyes, arms over the covers as he tried to settle into the pillow.

Really, there was no reason to try so hard. Because he knew what was going to happen. Yet it was still hard to actively acknowledge, and part of him was honestly surprised when, within only a few minutes, Cas was shifting beside him – turning over and scooting across the bed. Until he could reach out and slip his hands around Dean's middle.

With strength Dean sometimes forgot he possessed, Cas pulled him across the mattress. Dean released a slight grunt – like a "manly" squeak – but didn't fight it. He let Cas tug them up close, no blankets between them this time. They were together under the covers, Cas spooning up directly behind him as one of his arms wrapped around Dean's chest, the other slipping under his neck so Dean was forced to lay his head down upon it. Board-stiff for some moments, Dean considered what he should do, eyes wide as Cas's breath splashed across the back of his neck, as his body aligned with Dean's own.

Forcing himself into deep breathing, Dean reasoned as best he could with himself, trying to decide what he should do. Really, it was his severe consciousness of the situation that was hindering his ability to just accept it. Because he kept asking himself what he should do, how he should react. What was expected and even proper.

But, really, he'd done this before. Usually he was situated the other way around, but it wasn't like he was inexperienced. The fact that he was acting like some pre-pubescent teenager was more embarrassing than anything, actually, and he could feel the way his cheeks burned.

He was such an idiot. This was Cas.  _Cas_. There was no reason to be uptight.

If there was anyone other than Sam he could trust, it was Cas.  _He_  wanted to be close to Dean, otherwise he wouldn't be acting this way. It was the only logical conclusion to come to. Which meant that Dean wasn't taking that big a risk in accepting it. Even as his heart surged and his stomach twisted, as if warning him not to give in, he knew it was okay.

Because if it wasn't, quite honestly, it was too late. He'd given in a long time ago.

Taking a deep breath, and ignoring how his breath shook, Dean finally forced his posture to relax. He leaned back into Cas, comforted at how the other man caught him. Cas's legs twined with his own, the feeling of the bare skin of their feet smoothing together sending a fervent shock up from Dean's toes to his fingers. Fingers that he dared to pull up until one of his arms lay along Cas's against his chest, the other linking their hands. Shy, touchy hands that gripped tighter, Cas rubbing his thumb gently along Dean's inside palm.

Trying to comfort him, a fact that Dean had to blink away somewhat furiously.

Finally, with their bodies pressed as closely as they could be with the fabric of their clothes still between them, Cas leaned his chin up, nosing his way forward until his cheek was resting against the back of Dean's, jaw placed against Dean's shoulder. The roughness of his unshaved cheeks clashed with Dean's, but the sensation sent another thrill throbbing through his whole body. One the ricocheted back and forth until he was a light, fuzzy mess of raw physical awareness and emotional whiplash. His head was swimming, thoughts unable to fully form.

Like he was flying in a dream, waiting for the drop that would heave him back into wakefulness.

But that never came. He was left to Cas's embrace until some kind of wavering sleep finally took him, his dreams caught somewhere between reality and fantasy. Between what was happening and what he wanted, which was creeping dangerously close together.

What eventually ended up waking him wasn't the warm sunlight that had spattered across them all day before. No, it was quite the opposite. A gust of wind, or so Dean deduced as his eyes flew open. One that was tossing pelleting rain against their window – so harshly that it took Dean a moment to realize it wasn't hail.

A weather forecast he'd heard on the radio earlier that day replayed in his head, the warning of runoff from a tropical storm ringing clear.

The storm blew all around them, loud and menacing, the hotel creaking when particularly strong gusts bombarded them. It had a very encompassing feeling about it, like they were secluded from the entirety of the rest of the world by the swirling rain. Maybe, in a way, they were.

Dean could tell Cas was awake as well. His thumb had started rubbing his palm again and his blinking lashes brushed above Dean's cheekbone. For a while, they just laid together, silently listening as their bodies breathed against one another.

But, while the storm was distracting, it couldn't occupy thoughts forever. Rather, Dean's attention fell back to Cas's cheek on his own, and the slow, sensual way his thumb caressed his skin. To his weight and how they crowded together under the covers, a heavy, direct stir plunging down from his chest before he could even think to try and control it.

Quite abruptly, Dean knew it was too late, his body stiffening some as he pursed his lips. Which probably wasn't the best way to react, or to go about hiding such things from Cas. He was thankful they were under the covers, where he might be lucky and the whole thing would go unnoticed. Steadying his breathing, he tried to think of unpleasant things – like hellhounds and hellhounds eating kittens. Little was able to overcome the power of Cas's presence however, Dean's ponderings always trailing back until he was sure that "hot and bothered" would be a bit of an understatement.

Christ, was he sweating? It'd be really helpful if Cas would stop stroking his palm.

At least, that was what Dean was thinking. He didn't actually think Cas would. Which was why, when his thumb stilled, Dean didn't know how to react. Because Cas's hold then tightened some, Dean's breath hitching when he was prodded lightly from behind – by something that had definitely not been positioned so when they'd originally fallen asleep.

Outside, the wind tossed, yet the pelting rain still wasn't enough to drown out Dean's blood pumping in his ears.

Cas's hand had separated from his own, fingers trailing like scalding burns down his abdomen. They graced over his t-shirt, lower and lower beneath the darkness of the blankets before gently skimming the elastic edge of his pants. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Dean closed his eyes, both apprehensive and desperate for Cas to keep moving south.

But he didn't. He pinched the fabric of Dean's pants, but failed to progress. The frustrated, needing, feverish section of Dean's brain automatically jumped to the conclusion that Cas was teasing him. Had to be. Which caused Dean to bite his lower lip and roll his hips upward, at the same time pushing back into Cas's own hardened desire. He heard Cas breathe in quickly behind him, yet still that hand remained at the band of his pants, Dean's eyes popping back open again.

Though he wanted to accuse Cas of baiting him, and his temper was pointing that finger, Dean tried to keep a level head. Rather, forcing some of the heated fog from his vision, he reasoned that teasing didn't seem like something Cas would do. At least, not at that point in their recent "friendship developments." He'd been nothing if not direct, though in a silent way.

No, he wasn't teasing. He was waiting for permission.

Lip still bitten and beginning to throb, Dean pulled his own hand lower. He placed it over Cas's, his brain hardly functioning as more and more blood built up between his legs. With each wave of it, his thoughts become fewer, their fingers linking together. Until it was more carnal than intent, years of longing and want inflating between them until consequences were completely locked away.

Pushing the ends of their fingers beneath the stretched fabric of Dean's pants, he easily guided Cas beyond his boxers as well, their reaching becoming a heated touch as Dean traced Cas's fingers to the tip of his desire. Down fully along his length, Dean's breath catching as an involuntary groan respired up through his throat. Cas's hands slowly folded around him, Dean's hips rising some to meet the warmth holding him –closing around him beneath the shadows.

Cas didn't need much more in the way of consent. Hold tightening, he paused as Dean's hand fell back, giving up full reign. Instead, the wind still beating loudly around them, Dean allowed his body to fall back in the sheets, his head turning until his nose was grazing down Cas's cheek to his neck. He opened himself, giving Cas better access as his head fell back against the pillow. As Cas propped himself up on his elbow, beginning to slowly stroke his hand up and down Dean's hardened need, thumb caressing his tip.

Caressing in the same fashion as he had previously, a hiss leaving Dean's lips as he ground the palm of his hand into the sheets. A hiss that was quickly followed by a gasp.

And then Cas was pulling his hold lower, cupping Dean firmly before dragging his long fingers back up in a stretched stroke that tried to pull Dean up from the depths of himself. That tugged him taut before letting go, something like a whimper – that Dean normally wouldn't let leave his lips – echoing around the room.

The stroking began again, Dean pushing his hips upward desperately, wanting more.  _Needing_  it the same way he'd always needed Cas.

Always wanted him.

Perhaps it was the extended moan that then filtered up from Dean's mouth, or the way it might have just barely echoed of a certain name, but something pushed Cas into more decisive action. Still with Dean held in his hand, he pushed himself up off his elbow. Tented by the blankets, his legs pushed him up and over – until he hovered above Dean, whose thrusting hips were then between Cas's knees. Balanced carefully, he reached down with his free hand and tugged Dean's layers of clothes away. Until they were down around his thighs, Dean closing his eyes as it happened. As he pulled his own hands up and allowed them to grip at Cas's muscular waist through his t-shirt.

Cas kept stroking him, Dean biting his lip again. Cheeks flushed in the darkness, his palms pushed against sweating skin until he had the band of Cas's sweats shoved down as well, hands pulling at the tense, flexing muscle waiting behind.

A deep, pleased groan echoed up Cas's body, his free hand coming up to grip under the pillow beside Dean's head. For balance as Dean clutched greedily at the flesh rounding back from Cas's hips, arms straining as he pulled Cas lower. Because the space between them was too cold, and Dean knew there was no barrier there anymore. Nothing to veil the heat pumping between them.

Knees sliding against the cheap sheets, Cas allowed himself to be lowered, the hand that had been stroking Dean finally retreating as their bare hips collided. As their erected lengths fell into one another, Dean holding them together even as Cas tried to move against him. Straining muscles combatting one another, Dean's arms flexed as Cas's thighs fought him. Fought to slide them together, thrusting them harshly against one another, Dean holding Cas's ass tighter.

Spine bowing, shoulders rolling, Cas plunged his hips to Dean's, breathing labored and heavy as they moved together. Until Cas was sinking, their shirted chests colliding, sliding, as his cheek brushed Dean's. As he pulled at the sheets with one hand, slipping the other back between their driving bodies.

Dean gritted his teeth, nose turning into Cas's cheek as long fingers trailed down between them. Cas took hold of them both, pressing their lengths together before beginning to stroke them in tandem with their thrusting, the whole thing coming together as this sweltering motion that caught Dean somewhere between believing it was happening and assuming it had to be a dream.

Because it was Cas. It was  _him_  and Cas, and they were driving against each other beneath the sheets, and it was this uncoordinated dance that Dean sort of knew, but had never done with the right partner. Because everything about Cas was right, and he was almost too afraid to accept it was real.

But then Cas's calloused hand was riding up against him, aligning them together, and his splayed thighs were mounted atop his own, moving their slicked skin together, and it was almost too much. Too long in coming maybe, and too incredibly heavy with everything they'd failed to say.

Voice utterly caught, Dean closed his eyes, his whole body lifting some as he plunged up at Cas – as he felt that knotted need begin to flood up through him, taking all his nerves and senses with it until all he registered was Cas stroking it roughly out of him.

Something like a gasping whine managed to escape out of him, wet heat spreading between them as the darkness bled white across Dean's vision. As every part of him was absorbed into that leaking moment, releasing him in a way he couldn't recall ever feeling before. With no care, no stress, no pressure. It was all washed away.

Because he was with Cas, and he knew Cas would take care of him.

Would watch over him.

Even as his eyes fluttered closed, he trusted this – more in that moment than any before. He heard Cas's guttural groan against his ear, felt the way his own body fell limp atop him. Knew they were both shaking, completely overcome, nearly thrown away.

Until they were both gone, not even the howling, screaming wind able to break through.


	21. Part 3: Not Really The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3/3: Out on a hunt, Cas and Dean end up having to share a single bed for the night, neither one content to let the other sleep on the floor.
> 
> Rated M for sexual content.

No, Dean wasn't sure he was ever going to recover enough to know how to deal with this situation. Mostly because he wasn't even sure how to comprehend it in the first place. But there was no denying it – Cas was still lying on top of him, bodies still pressed together, pants still down around their knees and thighs. The stickiness between them weighed on Dean far more than it should, and Cas's breath on his ear was near enough to get him going all over again.

But the twisting apprehension in the pit of his stomach was catching any blood that wanted to find its way between his legs.

Logically, he knew he shouldn't be so worried. Cas had come on to him, kind of, and, well, they'd both participated, in any case. They should be able to handle this like adults.

Because they'd done such a bang-up job of such up till then, Dean's gaze flicking around the dim hotel room only quickly.

Outside, the storm still circled, though not with quite the severity it had during the night. Still, the warning was there – stay inside – and Dean tried not to feel trapped for it. There was no way they were going to be able to start their investigation until it died down more, which meant their was nothing to distract from what they'd done.

But maybe that was better. Maybe that was  _necessary_.

Dean must have lain there at least an hour before Cas finally began to stir. Still beneath the covers, his body had shifted slightly, Dean pursing his lips and saying nothing when he froze again. As if Cas had only just realized where he was still positioned as well and paused.

He wasn't nearly as tentative as Dean however, and soon was leaning up, his face lifting from beside Dean's as he sat back. His weight was heavy, Dean biting the inside of his cheek and reminding himself that he was supposed to be too nervous to be affected. But the blanket had fallen away and Cas wasn't shy about the fact that his sweats were stretched out below the mark. Dean, really, had no choice but to survey the situation, his eyebrows rising as he congratulated Jimmy Novak. Because Cas was  _hung_. Not that Dean was any less blessed, but still.

Cas had glanced down as well, but was much more tactful about the whole situation. He didn't appear uncomfortable, in any case, and was looking to the window a second later.

"The storm," his scraping voice sent Dean's heart to his throat. "It hasn't abated."

Dean couldn't find voice enough to reply.

Cas peered back down at him, Dean unable to meet his gaze. He could see in his peripherals, however, that Cas's expression had slowly waned into curiosity, his head tilting in the trademark way that it was prone to.

No, Dean needed a little more time.

"Uh, Cas, I… I need…" he still refused to look directly at him. "Bathroom."

"Oh!" Cas's blue eyes had fluttered wide. The next moment, he was rolling to the side, Dean finally relieved of his weight.

As soon as he was free, Dean took the moment. He pulled his legs over the bed and stood, pulling up his pants as he hastily walked across the room to the bathroom. Closing himself in, he allowed a shaky breath to leave his lungs, his hands balanced on the sink as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Blinking, he pursed his lips and forced his thoughts in order.

First thing first, him and Cas had… well, what? Dean wouldn't say that it was sex. Okay, so they'd done  _sexual things_. Things with their pants down, and bodies rubbing and-

No, focus!

This was Cas. Cas, who Dean knew perfectly well he wanted more than anything. Who he'd kind of wondered about feeling the same way, but always been too afraid to actually consider. And now they'd been intimate, and Cas had started it, and that meant something.

It had to, right?

Cas wasn't the type to take advantage, and he'd never seemed interested in casual sex, not really. Which meant that he… he had to have feelings for Dean too. That was where this was coming from – had to be.

Still staring at himself in the mirror, Dean swallowed hard, trying to wrap himself around such realizations – if that was really what they were. Because he'd always known that Cas was attached to him, that they shared a "more profound bond" or whatever. But this was different, wasn't it? He didn't know, to be honest. Cas was an ex-angel, his ideals and definitions were different than Dean's.

But if Cas didn't want a… a relationship with him, then he wouldn't be acting this way. Because Cas wasn't like that. He knew better, and Dean had to have faith he wouldn't hurt him in such a way. Even if sometimes Cas misunderstood.

So, assuming Cas did fully comprehend what was going on, then that left Dean with another variable to consider. That was, the aforementioned "relationship." With Cas. His best friend. And another guy. The last bit he'd come to terms with a while ago, but he hadn't actually gotten far enough in his fantasies to believe him and Cas would actually get to this point.

Every "romantic" relationship Dean had ever been part of had ended poorly, so that wasn't exactly the most reassuring idea. But after dealing with the Mark, and reflecting back on all the opportunities he'd squandered, something steady – meaningful – was what he wanted. He was finally ready, he thought, to properly value such a thing. And, fuck, did he want Cas. Wanted him so bad it hurt. In every way.

But it just seemed so unbelievable that it'd be possible. Because what had Dean done to deserve this? First Cas's protection, his power, then his friendship. His closeness as family, and now this? Cas, who'd once been this powerful force of sheer will and had given all that up for one measly human man. Really, that should be enough to reassure Dean, but it wasn't that simple.

His insecurities wouldn't let it be.

No, he couldn't ruin this too. He'd never forgive himself. He needed to take a leaf from Cas's book. Be direct and honest for once in his life.

Leaning back, he took a deep breath, nodding to himself in the mirror. He could do this. He was going to march out there, sit down, and they were going to  _talk_  about this. About their… feelings… and other nauseating topics.

And Dean was going to…

He was going to come clean. He was going to tell Cas everything. Their relationship was already teetering because of the night before, and he needed to do everything he could to tip it in the right direction. Which meant no sarcastic quips, no defensive avoidances, and no pretending it hadn't happened.

"You can do this," Dean pointed to himself in the mirror as he said it. The words didn't do much to make him feel better. Actually, they only made him feel stupid. Rolling his eyes at himself and how much of a wuss he was being, he finally whipped back around to the door. Huffing in determination, he ignored how his stiffened shirt rubbed against his chest and reached for the door.

Yanking it open, he practically stomped back out into the room, forcefully pushing his attention to Cas.

Cas, who was lying in the bed again, atop the sheets.

And who was completely naked.

"Shit," Dean muttered to himself, his panic taking over quickly enough for him to turn around before Cas's stare had intercepted his own. Hand still on the knob, he practically flew back into the bathroom, the loud slam of the door causing him to jump.

For a moment, his thoughts were jumbled. Caught between "serious feelings and business" and "holy fuck, Cas was naked, in bed, waiting for him, and damn was he  _hot_."

A helpless, silent whimper left Dean's throat, his own pants already tightening as his blood pushed aside his control.

He caught himself in the mirror again.

Really, with how pale he was and how scrunched his eyebrows looked, he was pathetic. Because, Christ, what was he doing? Cas was out there, totally fucking naked, and  _waiting_. And he was, well, what was he doing? Freaking out like some schoolgirl! Dean Winchester, who could bed any woman he set his eyes on (usually). Who never left a partner unsatisfied, and who usually took it all in confident stride.

Yet, last night, he'd been a whimpering, pitiful mess.

It was embarrassing, and now he was hiding in the bathroom. What the hell? What was he doing?

Cas was  _waiting_.

No, he couldn't let it keep on like this, not with his reputation. Cas wanted him? Screw the reasons. He was going to go for it. Because that was what Dean Winchester did.

They could talk about their feelings later.

Shoving his way back out into the hotel room, the door tossed violently to the side as he emerged. As he looked directly to the bed again, Cas sitting up against the pillows now, like he'd been considering getting up. His wide eyes fell to Dean, a blinking question in their depths, but before he could say anything, Dean held up his hand.

The silence continued, Dean resolute as he took a few steps closer to the bed. As he looked Cas obviously up and down, thinking of what they'd done the night before and how little he'd offered in assistance.

He  _wasn't_  that guy.

So what if Cas had made him whine like a lovesick virgin? He could do that too. He was going to make Cas  _beg_.

Approaching the end of the bed, Dean cocked a single eyebrow in Cas's direction. Cas, who was staring in blatant curiosity, but who wasn't making any motion to move again. Reaching down, Dean took hold of the bottom edge of his dirtied shirt, swiftly pulling it up over his head before tossing it to the side. His pants and boxers followed shortly after, his aroused desire clearly apparent.

Finally with nothing in the way of physical barriers between them, Dean crawled up from the end of the bed, eyes locked with Cas's, who'd lost their perplexed questioning and had become shadowed with something darker. With the same wanting expectation that had inspired them the night before.

A night Dean was determined to make up for.

Sliding between Cas's legs, Dean let his hands skim along his thighs until they were caressing those pointed hips. One side of his lips pulling into a smirk, he sent his challenge quite obviously through the space between them, Cas's eyebrows quirking, as if to say, "oh really?"

Dean's lips stretched into a full, devious grin.

Yeah, he had this completely under control.

Slowly allowing his focus to fall from Cas's eyes down his neck and across his chest, Dean leaned lower, Cas's knees splaying as he pushed his shoulders between them. As he nosed his down along Cas's hardened length, breathing in the heated scent of both that moment and the night before. Chin pressed against the dark hair leading him in, Dean allowed his tongue to then drag upward – to lie flat against the backside of Cas's length before he gradually drew upward again. Until he was slipping his mouth around Cas's tip, tasting the saltiness as a rasping groan echoed through Cas's whole body before leaving his lips.

Attention flicking up again, Dean felt his own skin shiver some at the expression painted across Cas's face. Tanned cheeks flushed, he was wide-eyed as he watched Dean, mouth parted some as he breathed heavily.

As Dean closed his lips around Cas fully, pausing for only a second before sucking him in.

Something mixed between a growl and moan shook up through Cas, his length twitching even as Dean surrounded it, hand leaving Cas's hip to grip at the base of his shaft. Holding him steady, Dean tightened his mouth, his tongue still sliding in purposeful strokes as he began to pump his head up and down. His hand twisted at Cas's base, pushing up further tightness as his thumb caressed in a manner to mimic his bobbing. He sucked up and then drank him back down again, Cas's hips beginning to reach for the movement. Beginning to fall into thrusting motion as Dean repeated his action over and over again.

Reaching up with one hand, Cas's fingers sifted through Dean's hair, tightening their grip and tugging at the locks greedily, spurring Dean to keep going. To meet the way his hips plunged up between Dean's lips, demanding, more than anything, that he keep going. That he suck harder, faster, Cas's teeth gritting. A low moan echoed around the room, Dean unable to hold back how he grunted lightly in response, the vibrations from his throat encouraging Cas to release another whine, this one bordering on a gasp.

Dean smiled despite himself, a sensation Cas could feel.

One that caused his grip to twist in Dean's hair, pulling back until Dean had no choice but to lift his head. Eyes meeting, he saw the way Cas's blues had narrowed, his cheeks still flushed as Dean made no attempt to hide his pleased grin.

Despite how he clearly wanted it however, Cas didn't allow Dean to go back down on him. Rather, he continued to pull Dean up until he was sitting back, Dean's chest heaving as Cas slid his legs out from around him. Sitting back on his feet, legs folded under him, Dean watched as Cas bent forward. As he resituated himself on the bed until he was the one with his head lowered, his chin falling between Dean's thighs as – with no hesitation – he swallowed that waiting length fully.

To the hilt, Dean's eyes bugging as his hands fell to Cas's shoulders. Stomach tightening, a surprised, pleasured whimper fled from his lips before he'd even realized it was there. But Cas was taking him in so deeply, and so abruptly, and that tongue was churning almost violently, Dean barely able to keep up. Since when had Cas known how to do such things? No gag reflex?

Dean's brain was a garbled mess within moments.

Cas's hands were on Dean's folded thighs, travelling swiftly along their sides, sliding around to his ass and gripping harshly, all the while he was dipping his head up and down, Dean rising to meet him. Which gave Cas enough space to slip his fingers down between Dean's thighs and calves.

Until his hands were hooked around the backs of Dean's knees.

Releasing a surprised huff, Dean blinked in momentary confusion, suddenly staring up at the ceiling. With one swift motion, Cas had pulled his legs out from under him, tossing him back on the bed, his head balanced just on the edge of the mattress.

But Cas was still stretching Dean's stiffened need inside his mouth, and his muscular arms were pushing Dean's thighs up, flexing with an insistent stress that sent burning throbs through Dean's whole body.

He was exposed, Dean knew he was, but he was ten steps behind, the fact that his feet were in the air and that Cas was rolling him back until more of him was seeing the light of day than he'd ever experienced before only vaguely making sense.

Then that mouth was letting him go, popping loose as Cas's tongue slid down his shaft. Lower and lower, lips sucking and pulling and brushing, Dean's breathing labored and choppy.

And then that tongue was sliding along foreign territory, a choked moan erupting from between Dean's lips as Cas's slicking touch drew against his tight entrance. Began to ravenously kiss and caress, Dean flexing against him, eyes closing.

That tongue was pushing against him, and Dean's voice was a rasping gasp as Cas's hand continued to clutch at the backs of his thighs.

Yeah, he was liking it, loving it even, and then there was the fact that it was  _Cas_. Cas who was licking around his rim, was holding him, and every feeling and jolted nerve in Dean's body was snapping. Was falling back against that tongue. Until he was a heaving, moaning mess.

Uncontrolled, undisciplined, and in the exact opposite position he'd wanted to be when he'd initiated this.

He had no control, he realized. He was succumbing to ever whim Cas thrust upon him – had been since this whole thing had started. He was complete and total putty in Cas's grasp. It didn't matter whether Cas was capable of using him or not, whether he felt the same way, Dean was giving in. Had been. And as that tongue tried to push into him,  _inside_  him, his heart surged with terror.

Fear of what he was doing, what he was letting be done to him. He trusted Cas, he did, but what did it  _mean_?

Normally Dean didn't need meaning in such acts, but this was different. Cas mattered – he  _meant_  something to him – and he couldn't let the situation spiral like so many others had.

But Cas was kissing him, was nipping and asking for entrance, and Dean wanted it.

Yet, he wanted more too, and giving in to things like this never got him that. Never had.

"C-Cas…st…" his voice was failing him. His body felt light and dizzy, and he was losing. Like it was all slipping right through his fingers. "St-stop…" The word was hardly a breathy whisper, and Cas didn't stop. Couldn't hear the fear Dean knew was pumping inside him along with the sheer ecstasy.

"Please…" Dean tried again, head leaning back against the mattress, body betraying him as his mind started to shout. "Stop, Cas…"

He couldn't do this. He couldn't!

"Stop!"

He wasn't exactly sure what happened, but within the moment, Cas was rearing back, Dean's knee throbbing as Cas's hand cupped his nose. Despite the fuzziness clouding his brain, Dean could make out the red that was leaking between Cas's long fingers. That dripped onto the sheets, Cas's eyes squinting closed in pain.

Dean sobered faster then than he had from anything before in his life.

"Shit," he leaned up, hesitating before he finally reached out to Cas. Those blue eyes had gone wide however, blood still gushing from Cas's nose, and he actually flinched away from Dean in surprise.

Sliding to the edge of the bed, Cas was on his feet, a puddle of blood left in his wake as he went directly to the bathroom.

He closed the door, Dean gaping as he stared after.

Because it was all slipping away anyway.

It didn't matter what he did, from what angle he tried to deal with anything, he always fucked it up. He'd messed up so many times before and now he'd screwed this up too – whatever it was they'd had, or been aiming for.

He'd actually kneed Cas in the face. Hard.

He was such an asshole.

Sliding to the edge of the bed, he set his feet on the ground and cradled his face in his hands. The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom, Dean biting his lip as his whole body deflated. His chest felt as though it was being ripped apart.

Eventually, shakily standing to his feet, Dean knocked on the bathroom door and asked if there was anything he could do. Cas had responded with a stuffy "no," Dean's insides curling in on themselves.

Distracting himself with the sheets, he pulled them up from the bed, rolling them so as to hide the blood and other remnants, placing them in the corner of the room for whatever unfortunate clerk had to pick them up. He folded the blankets, stacked the pillows, and then grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet beside the mini fridge. Wetting it with water from a bottle, he cleaned himself up as best he could before grabbing a new set of clothes from his bag. Dressing quickly, he went around and grabbed up his and Cas's clothes from the night before, stuffing them into the plastic bag their food had come in the night before.

Maybe it was nervousness, or mere helpless, but the room was spick and span by the time Cas finally emerged from the bathroom. Dean dared look up at him sheepishly, if only to make sure he hadn't permanently disfigured him, and became even more ashamed at the dry, swollen look to Cas's nose, which was stained in a vague redness. It was clearly painful, and Dean could see a few specks of dried blood lining his left nostril.

Also, there was the fact that he was still naked to consider.

"Uh, here," Dean said lamely, turning to grab the clothes he'd previously pulled out for Cas. Handing them over, he looked at the floor, biting his lip. Cas was staring at him, he could feel it, but didn't dare face whatever expression was waiting for him. Instead, after a momentary pause, Cas accepted the offered items, Dean turning to the window as Cas dressed.

It was during the moment that Cas was pulling on one of Dean's blue over shirts that a great crashing shook the whole hotel, both men starting as their roof visibly cracked.

Which was how they ended up needing a new hotel all together.

A tree had been pulled down by the storm and landed on the front side of the building, the trunk lying in the room beside theirs. After making sure everyone was alright – because those were the kinds of guys they were – they gathered their things, tossed them in the Impala, and braced themselves with having to drive to another hotel through the pounding rain.

Only one police officer had asked if Cas's bruised nose was a result of the tree, to which he'd answered a quiet "no."

By the time they were finally on the road, half the day had been wasted, the storm was still looming over them, and they were no closer to locating their vengeful spirit.

"Because, Sam, there's a fuckin' hurricane, alright?" Dean was ranting as he parked the car in the lot of a hotel a few streets over. "A tree fell on our hotel. Hasn't exactly been a morning of champions." Understatement.

Cas had taken Dean's wallet from the dashboard, where he'd tossed it, and gestured shortly to the building. Dean hadn't had the gumption to comment, instead waving him off in a relatively flippant manner, which caused Cas to frown. No comment was made however, Dean watching Cas walk across the lot to the hotel as Sam chattered on in his ear.

"Are you listening?" Sam's sharp voice pulled his attention back.

"Hm, what?"

"Seriously?" No, Sam wasn't impressed. "Dean, what's going on?"

"Nothing," Dean could already feel himself bristling. "Nothing's going on. Why would you think something was going on? Nothing happened. Everything is fuckin' peachy!"

"Oh… okay," Sam backed up an invisible step. "Really, are you alright?"

"Never been better…" Dean grumbled out. Outside, Cas was gesturing down to their room, shielding his eyes from the rain as he headed that way. Dean nodded, more than happy to wrap up his conversation with Sam. "Got to go, Cas needs me- I mean, he wants me- I mean, never mind. I gotta go." Huffing, Dean didn't even give his brother time to respond, instead ending the call and reaching back for their bags.

He left the plastic bag holding their "soiled" clothes under the seat, where he'd shoved it that morning.

Jogging across the parking lot, he trailed Cas through door number six, shaking the water from his hair as he walked under the metal awning.

His heart nearly froze as he entered.

Because there were two beds.

Cas had gotten a  _twin_  room.

Blinking, Dean tried to digest the scene, his hands feeling almost numb as they gripped the bags. His knuckles turned pale with the force of it, his lips tight. On the other side of the room, Cas was toweling his hair dry, his shoulders wet and shadowed.

Cas, who, that very morning, had yanked Dean out from under himself and ravaged every bit of flesh between his legs. Who had licked, caressed, and appreciated parts of Dean he'd never thought the other man would even see. Would ever want to.

Then Dean had kneed him in the face, rejected him, so now they had  _separate beds_.

"Dean?" Cas's voice hit him like a smack in the face, Dean aware that he was still standing in the open doorway, rain flitting in.

"I'm gonna go get food," he decided coldly, dropping their bags to the ground. Without another word, he turned and headed back into the rain, completely missing the way Cas reached out to stop him. Shoulders hunched against the weather, he felt each step he took toward the Impala was a tick on the countdown. He slid into the front seat, dripping water, and started the engine with a sense of habit, his whole body inflated and numb.

He left the parking lot. He drove.

Drove until the miles had been run out of him. Until his chest hurt so much he was sure it was going to explode. Or at least crush in on itself. Pulling the Impala to the shoulder of whatever back road he'd ended up on, he sat back listening to the idle as the radio played at a buzzing softness.

His chest shook; his hands held the wheel too tightly.

 _And Cas had gotten two beds_.

It pushed up through him, everything he'd been trying to hold in the last few days. Like a shaken soda pop with the cap removed, it burst forth, his lips trembling as he reached up and tried to wipe at the tears that hadn't even fallen yet.

Because, fuck, he was crying. And his whole body was shaking, and he was pretty sure it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

He wasn't sure which he regretted more – agreeing to share a bed with Cas in the first place or asking him to stop when they'd gotten too close. He couldn't tell which was worse anymore, really. The unrequited feelings or the interrupted ones. Because, no matter the scenario, the outcome was the same. He didn't get Cas. He'd done something wrong.

And now  _he_  was the one being rejected.

Not that he blamed Cas. What the hell good had Dean ever been for him? He'd practically been a curse on the angel since he'd saved him from Hell, and now he was human because of him too. Cas using his grace to save Dean from the Mark had practically been a death sentence.

He didn't deserve Cas, and it'd been idiotic of him to think Cas would put up with his nonsense forever.

Finally the tears fell, Dean taking a gasping breath as he wiped them away. As he swallowed them again, forcefully. He didn't have the right to be upset. Besides, crying about it wasn't going to change anything. It didn't matter how much he wanted Cas – how much he'd learned and regretted over the last year – he hadn't earned such luxuries. He'd spent his whole life killing and fucking and pretending not to give a shit.

And this was his just reward.

Gritting his teeth till it felt like his teeth would chip, he slammed the Impala back into drive. He held his breath against the turmoil still teeming inside him and swallowed every single tear until his throat was sandpaper. Tires spinning in the wet dirt, he shot back out onto the pavement, engine revving as he sped off.

He didn't get food. He didn't eat anything.

And he didn't show back up at the hotel until sometime around midnight.

Cas had the key, and Dean had half a mind to get his own room, but the door was unlocked as he tried the knob. The rain had finally stopped, though his clothes were that stiff sogginess of drying fabric.

None of the lights were on as he entered their room. He could make out Cas's sleeping figure in the far bed, his determination to remain in control of himself already faltering at the mere sight of the other man's silhouette.

Making sure the door was quiet as he closed it, he didn't bother with the bathroom or even a change of clothes. He was too exhausted to care. Instead, slipping off his boots, he sat down on his own bed and tried to breathe in against his nerves. Because no amount of driving had settled him, and he'd been wiping runaway tears from the corners of his eyes all night. The few that managed to leak through his wavering, stick-like defenses.

Walls that felt weaker the closer he was to Cas.

Lying back, he pulled the covers up to his chin, dry eyes squinting closed as he tried to ignore the throbbing ach in the back of his head. Yet Cas's breathing was so easy, and he had no choice but to listen to it. Every time he registered that calm inhale, a nail was pounded into his ribcage. Was puncturing his resolve until his desperation was once again overcoming him.

It was pathetic, and he hated –  _despised_  – every moment of it.

But he also wanted to hear Cas's voice. More than anything, that was what he wanted.

Throat heavy with his clogged, stifled emotions, he spoke. Just one word.

One name sent out into the darkness.

"Cas?"

He didn't get a response. His broken call, no matter how many bated seconds he waited, was met with silence.

Rejection – a point he'd never wanted to reach.

He knew he wasn't being fair, that Cas was asleep. But he didn't know what else to do. What to say to make anything better. And as his dependent longing wedged up into the space between his heart and his lungs, he registered the salty wetness once again streaking down his cheeks. He didn't wipe any of it away this time. Was too tired. He let the tears fall, dampening his pillow as his breathing became choppy.

He tried to stay quiet, really, if only so Cas wouldn't wake up and be witness to such a pitiable sight. But the dam wasn't going back up this time and he eventually had to turn his head into his pillow to stifle the breathy sobs that wracked his whole body. He curled up, body tense in attempts to keep still. Attempts that ultimately failed.

Hands balled into fists, he buried himself in the darkness, telling himself over and over again that he was being childish. That he'd done this to himself. But it made no difference. His body wouldn't heed him. And it just kept coming.

Writhed inside him for hours.

There were no comforting hands holding him, no breath against his neck. Even when Cas's breathing got  _too_  easy,  _too_  controlled, it took him. He clamped his hand over his mouth in an attempt to quell some of the noise, but, even muffled, it was clear what he was doing.

Yet Cas never rose and came to him.

He spent the night alienated and alone.

Just like always.

The following morning was rough, to say the least. Dean refused to get up, if only to avoid having to face Cas as long as possible. He hadn't really slept, just wavered in and out occasionally, and already he was exhausted. His mood was piss-poor, at best, and not likely to get any better. Just the sound of Cas rising from his bed made him grit his teeth in irritation, and when the water from the bathroom sink was turned on, he almost barked out how loud and inconsiderate of a bathroom partner Cas really was.

But he didn't. He stayed under the blankets, glaring at the door.

Until Cas began to awkwardly stand and sit, dressed in his FBI suit as if waiting on him. Which was nearly the most annoying thing Dean had witnessed all morning.

Growling, he tossed the covers aside and threw his legs over the side of the mattress. He knew Cas was watching him, and for the first time in days he wasn't afraid to look at him. Eyes swollen and red, he turned on him, barking out a ferocious "what?!" as he pushed himself to his feet.

Cas didn't comment. Rather, he glanced quickly away, cheeks pale as his hands rubbed together.

Marching to his own bag, he yanked out his own monkey-suit before heading to the bathroom.

He slammed the door on his way in.

His shower was short and only washed away some of the swelling around his eyes. Dean hardly had the patience to care however, soon emerging dressed and ready to leave.

No words were exchanged as he headed out the door, nearly tossing it back in Cas's face as they went to the car. He was backing out of their spot before the passenger door had even closed.

Cas was staring at him, and, suddenly full of bravery, Dean whipped around to stare back while they sat at the first stop sign they came to. He wasn't aware of the snarl that was pulling at his lips until the growl erupted from his throat, which sent Cas up against the door, gaze wide as he shied away.

Those blue eyes stayed appropriately focused on the ground for the rest of the morning.

Getting information from the police didn't go as well as usual, probably because Dean wasn't being as civil as he normally would be – which Cas tried to make up for as much as possible. And questioning locals and family members went even worse, to the point where Cas was having to make up excuses for Dean's attitude.

"He didn't get any sleep last night." "He doesn't do well without breakfast." "There was a recent death in the family."

Yet the more Cas spoke, the more aggravated Dean found himself to be. Until that familiar gravel in his throat sent Dean into a new kind of temper. He actually walked away, seething, from a conversation they'd been having with the manager at a local grocer – the father of one of the victims.

Cas was nearly as fed up as Dean was by that point however, tired of being snapped at and threatened by Dean's aggressive posture. And he was  _really_  tired of barely being in the car before they were driving away – like Dean was trying to dump him out the door or something.

"Dean!" He called, deep voice booming through the store as he followed him up a toiletry aisle. But that broad back never turned, and Cas was tired of being cowed. Picking up his pace, he reached out and grabbed Dean by the shoulder.

"Do not fucking touch me!" Dean hissed out as he turned, nearly smacking Cas across the face with the sharp gesture of his hand.

"You're being an asshole!" Cas rebuked, glare burning. "You've been being an asshole all day! We've hardly gotten anyone to say anything to us because they get tired of talking to you!"

"Guess that makes two of us then." Dean turned and headed off again.

"Excuse me?" Cas trailed at his heels, standing his ground when Dean whipped back on him again.

"Step off," Dean threatened.

"Go ahead and make me."

"Don't test me, Cas. I'm  _not_  in the mood."

"So I've noticed. What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? You! That's what's wrong with me!" A woman had turned into their aisle, but upon hearing their heated argument, she'd turned around and gone back the other way.

"What the hell have I done to you?!" Cas's voice was almost accusing. "You're the one that kicked me in the face!"

"You fucking deserved it!"

"Dean!"

"What?!" Dean's breath was huffing. " _You're_  the one that came on to me," he was hissing now, voice lowered dangerously as Cas's eyes widened. "You crawled into my bed! You started this!"

Cas blinked, adjusting to how direct the conversation had gotten. "I thought that was what you wanted."

"Oh, so that's reason enough? Thanks, Cas, how  _thoughtful_."

"What?" Cas was shaking his head, lost. "If that wasn't what you wanted, then you should have told me!"

"That's not the point!"

"Then what is?!"

"You took  _advantage_  of me!" The words were terrible, and Dean didn't want to actually believe them, but he didn't know what to think anymore. Was sick of trying to puzzle it out.

Cas was clearly shocked by them, his mouth hanging open for a moment before it then closed and opened again, as if he didn't know what to think or say.

Lack of reasoning was as good to Dean as admitting it was true, however, and not hearing such harsh things contradicted caused his emotions to assault him all over again. They were at the breaking point, the two of them – right in that moment – and if something wasn't done, the whole thing would fall apart. Not even their friendship could recover from this. Not as it was then, not with Cas staring at him and saying nothing.

"You knew…" Dean said quietly, his lips trembling some. "I know you did."

"Knew… knew what?" Cas found his voice, finally, head shaking. "Dean, I didn't- I would never…" As if pushed by the familiarity that was normally between them, Cas reached up, his hand skimming Dean's arm. As if he'd wanted to grab it, but Dean had taken a step out of the way – blatantly avoided him. "Dean," Cas was hurt, infinitely so, by the sidestep, his confusion apparent in the apprehensive shifting of his eyes. "I would never take advantage of you."

"Then why did you do it? Any of it?" Dean was speaking through gritted teeth, trying to keep himself under control for as long as possible.

"I don't understand what you're asking me."

"You  _knew_  I had feelings for you," Dean finally admitted, his breathing shaky and his posture unstable. "You  _knew_." He was pointing at him, finger quivering as he did.

Cas blinked again, trying to keep up. But he didn't know what was the right thing to say – what Dean wanted to hear. "Yes," he admitted. "I knew."

His words caused Dean to look away, his emotions reeling across his face faster than Cas could comprehend them. This whole thing was so far beyond him. He'd only been human a short time, and always felt as though he was floundering. Usually Dean was there to help him, but for some reason, that wasn't the case this time.

"I-I've known for years," he continued. "When I was an angel, I could feel it. Like longing. From you. All the time."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Dean's hands went to his hair, pulling at the locks as he turned in frustration and grief.

"I thought it was what you wanted!"

"That doesn't make it okay!"

"What?" Cas was so confused.

"So you knew and decided it'd what, be fun? That I'd be okay with… with  _that_  just because I… God  _dammit_ , Cas!"

"I don't understand what you're saying!"

"You can't dumb your way out of this!" Dean didn't mean to shout, but he couldn't help it. "Don't play stupid with me!"

"I'm not!"

"Fine, you know what, fuck you, Cas," Dean swallowed hard. He had to keep it together. Just long enough to get out of there. "Don't ever fucking talk to me again."

" _Dean_!" Cas was pretty sure that it was panic that had taken hold of him, that was making his body jittery and hard to control. Things he'd never had to deal with as an angel. It was all so overwhelming, and new. And sometimes it was good, like it had been a day or so ago, and sometimes it was beyond his limited understanding. Like then. The only thing he knew for certain was that never talking to Dean again was one of his biggest fears, and that was something he was sure he couldn't live with.

He'd given up his grace, his livelihood, his entire  _existence_ , in order to avoid never seeing Dean again.

He didn't know what to do!

Cas wasn't gifted with words, he knew, so he tried to remedy the broken string in another way. In a way he thought Dean would understand. Coming forward, he grabbed Dean by the arms, holding him forcefully in place as he slammed their lips together. It seemed like so much less to Cas than what they'd already done, but he was running out of options.

Lips pulling at Dean's, Cas sucked desperately at him, eyes closed fiercely as he did. A first, he got no reaction, nothing from Dean. But he didn't give up. He pressed harder, until he knew both their lips would be bruised, and tugged at Dean's bottom lip desperately.

And then Dean was kissing him back. For a moment – one fleeting, extraordinary moment – Cas was the closest to flying he knew he'd ever be again. That was the only thing he could compare being with Dean to. The only sensation he'd ever felt that might be similar. Free and high and spinning and wonderful. But carnal too, natural and physical and so heavy. Overwhelmingly so.

They pulled at each other, sloppy and unfocused, but together. Dean's hands were harsh on Cas's chest, shifting across the fabric of his shirt. Clinging and needing and all things Cas had thought Dean had always wanted from him – that Cas had been hesitant to promise until he'd become human. Because when he was mortal, he was dependent on Dean. And that meant they could always be together.

Their whole lives.

But then Cas's teeth were caught in a sudden motion, snapping accidently as those strong hands propelled him backward. Stumbling, and blinking in shock, Cas gaped at Dean, whose heavy breathing and bleeding lip were vibrant echoes in every one of Cas's senses.

But those green eyes were so full of pain, and Cas realized within seconds that he'd failed.

"Don't… do that," Dean snarled, his whole body trembling as he took a step back. As he stared in the same way he had when he'd realized Cas had been lying about working with Crowley. Like he'd betrayed everything they'd ever been.

It'd taken Cas years to right that mistake, but this time he didn't even know what he'd done wrong!

Dean wasn't going to listen to questions however. He was turning away, walking off, and Cas was only able to force his slow, stubborn, human legs to move after it was too late. He tried to fly through the store, but he couldn't. He had to run, but by the time he was out the automatic doors, he was watching the Impala speed off down the road.

Dean had  _left_  him.

A feeble whimper left his lips, the few humans standing about, watching him, casting him odd looks as they walked by. Cas couldn't have cared less about them however, his brain seeming sluggish as he tried to figure out what to do.

He pulled out his phone.

Dean. It rang. No answer.

Another whine left his throat.

Sam. Sam would know what to do. He picked up after a single ring.

"Hey, Cas, what's up?"

"Sam!" the name was breathed through his teeth, anxiety lacing every word.

"Whoa, Cas, what's wrong?"

"It's Dean, I don't know!"

"Is he hurt? Did something happen? Are you alright?"

"No, it's not that. Sam," he shook his head, glancing around the parking lot like that was going to grant him answers. "He's angry at me and I don't understand what I did."

"Oh…" Sam's voice dropped considerably. "Well, give him a little while and he'll get over it. That's not something to sound so-"

"It's not that kind of angry," Cas interrupted, beginning to walk down along the front of the store, toward the sidewalk. "He said he never wanted to speak to me again."

"Okay, calm down," Sam was as level-headed as ever. "Tell me what happened."

So he did. He told him about the single room after the vampires, and how they'd slept in the same bed two nights following. That they'd been close, and that they'd even gotten intimate, which Sam quite loudly objected to hearing the details about. But Cas felt he needed to elaborate some, because he'd done something wrong in order to cause Dean to knee him in the face.

"While I didn't need… that much detail," Sam was replying, clearly understanding how serious this really was, "you're telling me, basically, that he kicked you because he didn't want to… keep going?"

"I don't know, that's what I assumed." Were he not headed in one certain direction, Cas was sure he'd probably be doing what humans called "pacing." "I didn't want to push him, so I made sure to get a twin room after it happened. But then he drove off and didn't come back until midnight. And then he…"

"What?"

Cas actually paused on the sidewalk, his eyes closing as the memory came back to him. It was painful, thinking back on it, and he was ashamed to even admit he'd somehow made it happen. "He was crying, Sam," he muttered lowly. "I heard him say my name, but I didn't know what he wanted. So I didn't do anything. And then he was  _crying_. All night."

"So you…?"

"I didn't do anything!" he started walking again, his pace a little calmer than before. "I was the reason he was upset in the first place. I thought I'd only make it worse!" It'd hurt to listen to all night, especially because he'd known Dean had tried to hide it, but if he'd been the cause of it, then wouldn't he have only made it worse? Had he been wrong? He'd gone to Dean the other nights and that had gotten him a nosebleed, so he'd stayed away that time.

"You two are morons," Sam muttered.

"Insults are not helpful."

"Well, have you talked to him?"

"I tried, but…" Cas sighed. "I don't understand what he was saying. He thinks that I… that I took advantage of him." An idea that horrified Cas. Because he knew enough of that to realize just what such could potentially imply. Yes, he was new to humanity, but he was pretty sure that Dean hadn't objected to what they'd done. Not until the knee thing. He was almost too afraid to consider otherwise – that Dean hadn't wanted any of the touching and had allowed it for some other reason that Cas couldn't fathom.

"Okay…" Sam took an audibly deep breath. "Cas, let me just…Have you actually told Dean how you feel about him?"

"I thought I'd made that pretty clear."

"No, I mean, with words. Like, did you go up to him and  _tell_  him how you felt."

"I… no," Cas knew he hadn't. "Dean doesn't appreciate blatant references to such things. They make him uncomfortable. I've been trying to go about this in a fashion that would make him as comfortable as possible." He thought he'd been feeling out the situation pretty well, at least until everything had gone down hill.

"But, Cas, that's the whole problem, don't you see?" No, he didn't. "Look, you know Dean, just like I do. We  _both_  know that he doesn't give himself enough credit. Dean's insecure and he's really hard on himself. But most of all? He doesn't think he deserves to be happy."

"I know that." And Cas hated it. Dean deserved everything – him and Sam both. A better life than the one they'd been given, and a family that was better than their sad excuse of one. Dozens of people that cared for them, and a place to call home that wasn't a bunker tucked away in the depths of secrets and lies.

"That's why you have to  _actually_  say it to him," Sam reiterated. "I see it, and anyone who sees the way you look at each other can put the pieces together, but it doesn't matter how many times you give up your grace to save him, there's always going to be that little voice in the back of his head that tells him it's not true. That there's some other reason behind it all. It's ridiculous, but it's true. Then things like this happen, and he's left alone with that voice too long. It gets louder and louder until that's the only thing he can hear anymore."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that he doesn't know how you feel about him. Yes, you've made it pretty clear, but that's not enough. With Dean, these kinds of things have to be spelled out. If they're not, then he finds all kinds of loopholes to reason his way out of it. That's why he thinks you took advantage of him. Because his insecurities can't trust the situation enough for him to see the logical side of it all. He's too busy finding reasons why you  _shouldn't_  feel that way about him for him to understand that you do."

"He thinks that I knew how he felt, and that I used him," Cas finally deduced.

"Sounds like Dean. He'll believe just about anything if it means he gets to be miserable."

"But he has to know I would never do that."

"It doesn't matter if he knows that you wouldn't. If that's the only other way that things between you two could have gotten this far – the only other reason besides the real one – then he'll entertain it."

"But why?"

"Because he's afraid."

"Why would he be afraid of me?"

"Because, Cas, he's in  _love_  with you," Sam almost laughed. "And that means you have the power to completely destroy him. Just like our mom did when she died, and our father did. Because if you reject him, or leave, you'll be a hole he'll never recover from."

"But I won't do either of those things."

"Then  _tell him_."

Yes, maybe Cas understood then. Finally. An issue of communication – as it always seemed to be with the Winchesters.

The conversation with Sam ended shortly after, Cas continuing on down the street until he reached their hotel, which hadn't been but a few blocks from the grocer. He paused when he saw the Impala parked over the line between two spots, clearly in an uncaring fashion, which spoke volumes about Dean's state of mind.

The fact that he was there, however, at their hotel, said more. Because Dean could have gone off somewhere else. But he'd returned to a place where Cas would find him. He wanted to be saved from it all, he just couldn't do it on his own. He'd been giving Cas dozens of chances over the last few days, and he'd thought he'd taken them. Yet, really, it'd been something so much simpler. Just a few words; some clarification. That was it.

Dean had been right, he realized – when he'd said relationships were difficult. Even if the solution was seemingly easy, getting there was a different trip entirely.

Feeling more settled after talking to Sam – as he usually did (Sam had a wonderful head on his shoulders) – he pushed his feet across the parking lot and to the door to their room. It was unlocked, the fact almost humorous. In a bitter, ironic way.

Gently, he pushed his way inside.

His eyes fell to the hunched figure sitting on the end of the far bed. Dean, with his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He was upset again, Cas could see that, and as he slowly approached, Cas tried to organize how he was going to address the situation.

No. No more trying to be as careful and considerate as possible. Sam had said to just say it, so that was what he was going to do.

"Dean," he said the name softly, his hand gentle as he placed it on Dean's shoulder. As if oblivious to the fact that he was no longer alone, Dean jumped, glancing up just as Cas was seating himself on the mattress beside him. His cheeks glistened with smeared tears and his lips trembled. The surprise in the green of his eyes was quickly overcome by suspicious defensiveness, Cas reminding himself not to take it personally.

"Cas, get-"

"Listen to me." Cas's voice was firm – deep and commanding. Like it had been when they'd first met. Before his respect for Dean had rid him of his ability to silence the human. Because he didn't like to speak to Dean so – he was only deserving of soft words and gentle praises. Honest, true things. But perhaps Dean needed to be  _told_  once in a while, if only so he could be ordered to appreciate himself as he ought.

Dean's lips had clamped shut, surprise dancing across his expression. It'd been years since Cas had talked to him that way.

"Dean," Cas's eyes narrowed, his hand moving up to draw along the base of Dean's jaw. "I'm not taking advantage of you."

"Cas, don't-"

"Enough." Silenced again. "Enough of this. No more." The backs of his knuckles brushed Dean's cheek, a soft smile pulling at his lips. A smile that Dean had taught him. Because Dean had been the first person he'd ever truly smiled for. In all his existence, in all his lifetimes, that single, small thing was Dean.

That which he treasured above all his father's creations. One man. One soul.

"Dean, I love you."

A word that had never seemed sufficient to Cas. It didn't say enough, didn't mean what he wanted to say. But language was limited, and his attempts to show Dean hadn't worked out how he'd planned. So that was what he'd come to.

"I've loved you since the day I pulled your soul from Hell. As my brothers and sisters have said, that was the day I was lost – the day I truly fell.

"I fell for  _you_."

He could see the fear Sam had spoken of in those wide green eyes. In the way they stared, and how they flitted back and forth. As if searching for something – for a reason, Cas realized. A reason why what was said couldn't be true.

"You're everything to me, Dean," he assured. "I live for you."

"Cas-"

"And I'm sorry if that got lost somewhere along the way. I only wanted to show you how much I loved you. And when you wanted to stop, I wanted to make sure you understood that that was okay too." His other hand came up, caressing Dean's cheeks, thumbs rubbing at the tear streaks. "Whatever you want, that's what I want too."

Those damp lashes closed, hiding that beautiful green, and Cas could see the way Dean was gritting his teeth, his lips parted some. Like it was painful to hear such things. A bittersweet agony.

Hand shaking, Dean reached up, his fingers slipping around Cas's wrist. His other pulled almost hesitantly at the lapel of Cas's jacket, as if that on its own – accepting even that small part of Cas – was near impossible.

"It's okay," Cas whispered, leaning in. He allowed his thigh to slide against Dean's, his hands pulling him closer. Their noses brushed, Dean's breath hitching, and Cas laid his words against the path of Dean's fresh tear. "You're okay. I'm not leaving you. I'm not going anywhere.

He kissed him softly, salty skin on his lips as he did.

" _Let me love you._ "

Maybe it was the final barrier between them being broken, or the soft, encouraging way in which Cas trailed kisses over Dean's cheeks, nose, and chin. Until, finally, he was on lips, Dean drawing in a haggard breath that Cas caught mid-caress.

Soon Dean was allowing his hands to pull up under Cas's jacket, unsteady, but certain. And Cas was laying him back in the sheets, never allowing their lips to part until Dean had to take in a gasping, heavy breath. One that Cas found he needed as well, but had been too distracted to realize.

Because  _Dean_  was his air.

With careful hands and constant reassurance, Cas slowly pealed away Dean's suit, Dean doing the same to him. Until they were only each other inside the sheets, Dean's legs wrapped tightly around Cas, holding him close as his hands clawed as Cas's back. As Cas let his lips explore every scar, every crevice, every muscle and freckle that existed within the stretch of Dean's skin.

Until they moved together – with curling toes and whimpered names and bowing spines. Sinking hips and grasping fingers. Ecstasy that burst between them; that became more than what Dean had ever thought it could be.

Because it wasn't just sex with Cas. It never would have been, which had perhaps been part of the problem. They'd become too close, gotten to know each other too well. Until  _nothing_  was "just" something.

Dean wasn't sure he'd say Cas made love to him that afternoon. Maybe on the surface, that was what it looked like. But, really, the love had always been there. Cas hadn't made it – just made it possible for Dean to see it.

Allowed him to feel more important, and more cherished, than he had in his entire life. Like he was more than just a desperate man looking for something to live for. Like he  _had_  that, and so it was okay to finally let his life take him.

To allow himself to experience it all differently than he had before.

To be, for the first time, standing in the sunlight he'd spent so long trying to shine on others. To look into those blue eyes and know that what he saw was real. That it didn't matter how short their live were, or that they spent them at the end of a knife or the barrel of gun.

For the  _first time_ , his life wasn't defined by how it'd end. It was reflected in the people that loved him.

A fact he could finally see for himself.


	22. Hunters and Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean the kitty-cat has been growling regularly at the invader constantly perched on his fence outside the window, convinced the stray is up to no good. Until his owner, Charlie, brings the ratty thing inside.
> 
> Rate K for general audiences.

"Now you two, be nice to Castiel," Charlie was saying as she opened the door to the cat carrier. "He's here to be your new friend." Green eyes narrowed, Dean balanced on his haunches, staring into the carrier with his tail tensely straight behind him. Sam, who was sitting beside him, seemed more curious than anything, his long, fluffy brown hair flat in comparison to Dean's orange tabby coat.

A pair of blue eyes stared out from the shadows of the carrier.

"I don't like this," Dean hissed out, Sam glancing to his brother only quickly before beginning to creep up on the carrier. Long whiskers twitching, he sniffed around the edges, at the opened door and the top, before bowing his head to look inside again. A low growl was what he earned in response, Dean releasing another hiss as he darted up and pushed Sam out of the way.

"Dean!" Sam was affronted by his actions, but stepped aside accordingly despite his greater size.

"Dean, be nice," Charlie scolded from where she was standing back beside the couch. Grumbling some to himself, Dean forced his hair to lie flat before scooting away and sitting back on his haunches again. Some moments passed in silence then, both Sam and Dean blinking with attentive green eyes as they waited for the thing inside the carrier to do something.

Eventually, as if spurred by brave curiosity, the shadow inside began to creep a bit forward. A dark nose was sniffing at the plastic floor, whiskers twitching in the same way Sam's had previously. Until, finally, there was enough light to make out a familiar shape.

"You!" Dean hissed, his hair spiking again. Blue eyes flicked to him, big ears twitching. Yet the newcomer didn't shy away. Instead, as if unaffected by Dean's intimidation, he continued to poke his way forward. Until he had a single paw reaching outside the carrier, neck stretching tentatively up to look around the apartment.

"Oh, you're the stray that hangs out around the fence," Sam determined, an excited shiver running down his spine. The newcomer glanced to him then, having to look up. Sam was quite large for a feline, Dean determining that the new guy—Castiel—was about his own size. Fluffier however, though not as fluffy as Sam. As he crept completely out of the carrier, Dean saw that his hair grew thicker along his back, poofing most at his tail. He was dark with brown accents sifting beneath the black. His chest and around his whiskers were a snowy white, as well as the end of his tail. He was thin too. Much thinner than Dean ever remembered being.

"Where am I?" Castiel turned his question on Sam, blue eyes narrowing some. "You're the ones from the other side of the clear wall."

"The window?" Dean deadpanned, ears back as he sat up. He refused to be pleased about this. "It's called glass. And yes. This is  _our_  side."

"You're being rude," Sam scolded, flicking one ear as he looked to his brother.

"How're we supposed to protect this place if random strays are being let in?" Dean rebuked hotly, Castiel silent. He'd pulled his legs up to scratch at the new blue collar around his neck, the silver bell jingling as he did. He didn't appear at all bothered by the two brothers. "I can't keep track of the borders if wild  _strays_  are being let in by the front door!"

"Strays?" Castiel's head cocked to the side.

"Yeah! Cats like  _you_!"

"Charlie brought him in," Sam reasoned sourly. "Clearly she wants him here. There's nothing needing your 'protection.'" Sam began licking his paw.

"I wish you'd take this more seriously," Dean kept on. "Charlie calls us her hunters! You ought to consider your responsibilities once in a while."

"I do," Sam nodded. "That doesn't mean I have to be frizzed-out like you twenty-four seven." He turned to Castiel. "C'mon, I'll show you around the apartment."

"Why?" Castiel's head was still cocked.

"Didn't you here Charlie?" Sam purred in amusement. "This is your home now."

"Home?"

"Yeah, like, your new place to live," Sam broke it down further. "She gave you a collar like ours." Sam jingled his purple collar, the golden bell twinkling. "She must want you to stay." Dean bent low on the ground, hiding his own bell and green collar against his fur.

"Here? On the other side of the clear wa- window?" Castiel blinked, blue eyes big. "I've never been on the other side of a window before."

"Living here is pretty great, you'll see," Sam assured as he rose. "C'mon, I'll show you where all the important stuff is." Padding across the living room, Sam was headed toward the kitchen. Castiel hesitated for only a moment before following, casting Dean only a short look before turning away entirely.

Growling, Dean watched them, waiting until they'd disappeared around the corner before he began to skim forward. Belly shifting over the ground, he paused at the corner that squared into the kitchen. His eyes were still slitted as he watched. Sam showed Castiel the food dishes, and then the water. And the litter boxes in the closet. Castiel was taking it all in silently, Dean only skimming around to follow when they were taking the other corner back into the living room.

Intent, Dean quickly took the corner as well, a surprised shock jolting through him as he did. Jumping back, he let out a short hiss, the dark paws that he'd nearly plowed into eventually leading up to curious blue eyes. Castiel's tail twitched only a little, the fact that he seemed completely unaffected by Dean's presence only irking the other further.

Dean glared at him, the two silent as their eyes remained locked.

Until Castiel finally spoke. "What's a stray?"

"It's someone like you," Dean clarified quickly, a slight growl lacing his explanation. "A cat without a human. One with no home that has to take scraps from around the neighborhood."

"I see," Cas glanced away, once again looking around the apartment before eventually staring at Dean again. "Then I'm not a stray anymore."

"Once a stray, always a stray," Dean spat, backing up some. Castiel was giving him a curious look again, as if he didn't understand, but Dean refused to say anything further. Instead, he turned on his tail and sauntered back through the kitchen. He went to the dining room windowsill and jumped up, shoulders hunched as he stared out at the fence. In his yard, around his perimeter. Where "Castiel" had once trespassed and instead of being run off as he should have been, was being welcomed into  _Dean's_  domain. What was he supposed to do with a cat like that anyway? No training, no manners. Living on the street.

The whole thing was completely ridiculous.

"What are you looking at?" Castiel had jumped up beside him, Dean's tail whipping as he let out a growl. Not even bothering to answer, he jumped back down, set on ignoring Castiel for as long as he possibly could, or until Charlie realized how useless he was and kicked him back out to where he belonged.

A few days passed, Dean refusing to so much as share a room with Castiel. He was continually irked by the fact that Sam was being so civil with him, and that Charlie was constantly picking him up and carting him around the apartment. It wasn't until one rainy afternoon when Sam jumped up on the kitchen table where Dean was sitting that the subject of the newcomer finally came up again.

"He's  _embarrassing_ ," Dean muttered as he watched Castiel scoot around at Charlie's feet, meowing and reaching his paw up against her leg. "There's no reason to act that way. He's  _begging_."

"He doesn't know any better," Sam replied as he licked between his toes. Charlie was putting the dishes in the cupboards, reaching down to pet Castiel every once in a while. She walked out of the kitchen after finishing, Castiel sitting down beside the empty food dishes.

"I can't take it anymore," Dean continued sourly. "He doesn't get anything. I feel ashamed just watching him." Sliding down the table, tail down and the hair along his back ruffled, Dean hunkered from the dining room into the kitchen, making sure to sit down a fair distance from where Castiel was.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked as he licked at his chest.

"The food dishes are empty," Castiel didn't look at Dean as he replied, instead continuing to peer through the doorway where Charlie had disappeared. "It'll be dark soon. The humans don't put out food when it's dark." He glanced over his shoulder at the window. "If I could get past the window, I could get some food before it's all gone."

"Why are you worried about it?"

"Because I'm hungry," Castiel finally did look at Dean then. "I don't want to go all night without food. Humans don't put out food at night." An anxious shiver ran through his fur, Dean pausing in his cleaning to watch him.

"Charlie will feed us eventually."

"What if she doesn't?" Castiel sounded somewhat anxious. "What if there's no food?"

"Alright, Cas, chill." Dean wetted his paw and slid it over the top of his head. "You want food? You're not going about getting it the right way."

"What else can I do?" Cas turned so he was facing Dean. "I was trying to ask, but she walked away…"

"You're not outside anymore," Dean finally set his full attention on Cas. "Housecats—like me and Sam—don't beg for food. It's improper. The humans will feed us, but if you're really that hungry, you can't just  _ask_. Humans don't listen very well. You need to get their attention. Make connections."

"I don't understand." Cas's head cocked to the side.

"Look, come up here." Turning, Dean jumped easily up onto the kitchen counter.

"We're not supposed to get on the counter," Castiel murmured. He'd been reprimanded once already. He didn't like being scolded. Especially when he didn't understand the rules of inside living anyway.

"Just get up here!" Dean huffed, Castiel seeming to consider the command for only a moment longer before jumping up as well. He sat down so he was facing Dean, who was readying himself for the lesson.

"There are plenty of ways to get a human's attention, but this is what I've found works the most efficiently. See this stack of things?" He'd set his paw atop a pile of mail Charlie regularly stacked on the counter. "Just," Dean started to slide it forward, "push it off." With a thwap and a flap, the stack tumbled off the counter onto the floor. Castiel and Dean both watched it, a few papers fluttering before finally settling against the tile.

"It didn't work," Castiel mentioned. The food dishes were still empty.

Dean sighed. "You have to keep doing it." Dean reached toward the back of the counter, knocked over one of the small spice containers sitting there, and rolled it off the counter onto the floor. It tapped, bounced, and wedged itself under the refrigerator. "Now you try."

Castiel paused before eventually mimicking Dean's actions. Carefully knocking another spice bottle on its side, he watched it roll toward the edge, waiting until it'd come to a stop before he nudged it over. It landed with a bounce.

"Good." Dean shoved another one overboard.

Castiel pushed a towel next, Dean explaining that things like that didn't make much noise.

Dean flicked a magazine down with his tail.

Castiel took on the plastic dish with oranges, sending it careening over as the fruit rolled across the floor.

Dean nudged at the metal pot on the stove until it clanged over the edge.

Castiel managed to slide the wooden cutting board to the floor.

"What the hell is go-" Charlie finally came around the corner, her eyes immediately going to the mess on the floor as Castiel scrambled to the ground. He was soon flat against the floor beside the food dishes, watching with big eyes as Charlie looked at them both.

Dean was far easier about the situation, gliding back down to the floor before sitting casually beside the empty food dishes as well.

"Dean, you little shit," Charlie growled, looking quite angry. Yet, within the same moment, she also spotted the empty food dishes. "Oh. I'm late, aren't I?" She pursed her lips. "That doesn't mean you should destroy my kitchen you little freak," she was muttering as she opened the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled out the food bag. Castiel perked up at the sight of it. "Not like you don't get fed twice a day or something." She refilled the food dishes, Dean giving Castiel a triumphant look once she was done. Sam came over shortly after, the three eating from their specified bowls as their human cleaned up their mess.

From that day on, Dean supposed that, since Castiel was apparently there to stay, he'd probably better teach him how things worked. Sam didn't take his position seriously, but Dean did, and if Castiel was going to be a permanent resident, Dean wanted him to learn the ins and outs the proper way.

"I don't understand," Castiel was saying one day as he followed Dean from window to window.

"We're checking the perimeter."

"Why?"

"For danger. Sam and I are Charlie's hunters and it's our job to protect Welcome-to-Mordor." Castiel had done that head-cocking thing. "Hunters, protectors. Warriors. This place, where we live, is Welcome-to-Mordor." He jumped down and went to the sliding door in the living room, Castiel following shortly after.

"Am I a hunter?"

"I've never heard Charlie call you a hunter," Dean deadpanned. "So no. You're a stray, you probably can't be a hunter." Dean moved on to the window on the other side of the living room.

"What do hunters do?" Cas jumped up beside him again.

"It's our job to be brave. To fight the monsters backs. That's what Charlie has told us. We have responsibilities."

"Monsters?"

"You wouldn't understand." Dean hopped down once again, Cas at his heels as he headed across the apartment. "Here, look, see?" Dean was standing by the front door now, the rug that sat there beside him. "Welcome-to-Mordor."

"You know what that means?" Cas crept toward the rug, staring down at it curiously.

"Of course," Dean licked at his paw. "Charlie told me. Not that I'm surprised she didn't tell  _you_. There's some information that us hunters are privy to that others simple don't need to know." He stood, tail flicking as he stalked off. Cas hesitated for only a moment before heading off again as well, his ear twitching back as he considered Dean's words.

It was in that same moment that he heard it. The living room window was open just a crack, the mesh screen barring them from exiting. It was from there that Cas registered the familiar noise, his hair pricking as he sidled back up to the window and jumped on the ledge. Dean had gone to the kitchen, but Cas was very serious about wanting to protect Welcome-to-Mordor as Dean did, even if he wasn't a "hunter." Charlie took good care of him, and fed him regularly, and didn't chase after him with hoses or brooms.

Ears flattening, a deep growl jumped to Cas's throat instinctively, his claws extending as he watched the way the bushes out in the yard bulged. He knew something was there, he'd grown up being wary of such things, and as the beast finally made an appearance, his growl got louder.

He knew the dog that was sniffing its way beyond the foliage into the yard. He was a stout, burley thing, and went by the name Crowley amongst all the other "strays" beyond the windows. He wasn't a very nice dog, Cas knew, and wouldn't shy from going after other dogs, cats, or humans alike.

The idea of his sharp teeth getting ahold of Charlie, or Sam or Dean, sent Cas's hair straight up, his growl getting louder all the while.

"What is it?!" Dean heard him after a moment, vaulting up onto the windowsill before gasping at the sight of the dog. He began growing as well, Sam soon wedging his way up beside them lastly.

"That's Crowley," Cas muttered, his tail whipping back and forth. "He's dangerous." Dean's eyes narrowed then, his lips pulling into a snarl. "I've seen him rip other cats apart." This implication drew both Sam and Dean's attention his way, fleeting surprise sparking over their expressions. Cas didn't stick around to respond however. Jumping down to the floor, he quickly skirted his way to the sliding door in the dining room, his blue eyes narrowing critically as he stared up at the handle.

He couldn't let Crowley stick around. Not if there was a chance he could hurt Dean, Sam, or Charlie.

Realizing he wouldn't be able to pull the door open as Charlie did—he couldn't reach—Cas began to dig at the bottom corner of the door. If he could just get it to slide open a little, just enough for him to shiver through.

"What are you-"

Dean's question was cut off by Charlie. "What are you doing, Cas?"

All Cas could register, however, was the immanent danger. Turning to Charlie, he did his best to back up against the door, to block her path. But she was much bigger than he was, and he didn't want to have to result to violence to stop her. Rather, he watched as she leaned toward the door, looking out into the yard.

But instead of seeming surprised or aghast, she simply looked down at Cas curiously. Twisting his head back, Cas was both relieved as well as concerned to see that Crowley was gone. He must have snuck back off into the bushes.

"It's okay, Cas," Charlie had bent down to scratch behind his ears. "There's nothing out there."

Cas had never heard such a wrong statement. He knew perfectly well that there were "things" out there. Dangerous things, dogs, cats, people. Perhaps these were what Dean referred to when he said "monsters." It was from these close, un-detected dangers that their home had to be shielded. Charlie, Dean, and Sam—they didn't know what was out there, lurking around every corner. Cas did.

Maybe that was why he couldn't be a hunter. Maybe he simply knew too much.

"That dog!" Dean was scrapping once Charlie had walked away again, his hair still fluffed as he stared out the glass. "Who does he think he is, coming into  _my_  yard?" Sam had come up as well, looking somewhat uneasy as he licked at his paw before bringing it down across his ear. "What did you say his name was?"

"Crowley." Cas was staring out the window as well, though with far less fire than Dean.

"Well he better watch out. He won't stand a chance if he comes around here again." Cas had to look at Dean thoughtfully then, unsure what to make of such a statement. Did Dean not realize how dangerous dogs could be? How big their teeth were, and how easy it was for them to simply flick their heads and break a cat's neck?

"He's very dangerous," Cas said almost slowly. "You should stay away from him."

Dean's fierce green eyes turned on him then, Cas not all that bothered by the irritation that flickered there. Dean often looked at him so.

"Just because a stray like you runs away from something like that doesn't mean I will," he rebuked hotly, Cas's eyes narrowing as he pinned his ears back. "Hunters don't back down."

"You'll be ripped apart by him," Cas growled out, just about fed up with Dean's constant referencing to his lineage. It hadn't bothered him at first, mostly because he hadn't even known what "stray" referred to. But the longer he'd been living behind the windows, the more familiar he'd gotten with the idea. He's seen other cats skirt through the yard, some he recognized, some he didn't. He saw their patchy, knotted fur over their skinny bodies, and the paranoia in their postures. He knew that, once, he'd been like that too. Not the well fed, groomed, doted on feline that he'd become.

Yet Dean's perception of him never seemed to change.

"Maybe  _you_  would be," Dean was standing, his hair on end, "but I'll send him running back to wherever he came from."

"You wouldn't stand a chance against him," Cas countered, on his feet as well, his claws flexed against the floor.

"Says the cat that goes running under the couch every time Charlie so much as drops a pair of scissors," Dean rebuked.

"You're just a  _pet_ , Dean," Cas hissed. "Pets come from comfy homes and get fat on dry food all day. You don't know what it's like to deal with something like Crowley. You'd be dead before you even saw him coming."

"Not all of us are cowards that perch on fences all day and go around begging for food at every doorstep!"

"You don't know anything about it!" Cas snapped, his hair fluffing threateningly. "You think I  _chose_  to be a stray? You think it was fun, living that way? You were born in a home, Dean, and you've been safe behind windows ever since. You don't know what real danger is!"

"At least I don't run away every time a door slams!" Because Cas was considerably more jumpy than either Sam or Dean, this was true. But he couldn't help it. Loud noises generally came before danger, and he wasn't sure it was a habit he'd ever break himself of.

"You'll never understand," Cas grumbled. "You don't know anything outside this safe little box. You're not a hunter, you're an infant."

No, Cas hadn't expected the speed with which Dean moved then. One moment, they'd been hissing, hackles raised, and the next, Dean was on top of him. Growling and spitting, claws out, they rolled back into the sliding door, Cas scratching out as Dean slammed them into the glass.

"Hey!" Sam's hair was frazzled as he yowled at them. "Cut it out!"

"Stop it!" Charlie's voice rang out louder, startling them all. Crouching down, Sam cowered on the floor while Cas and Dean bolted away from one another, shooting off in opposite directions. "What the hell, you two? I thought you'd started getting along…"

Dean and Cas didn't speak to one another for days following their scuffle. Cas tried to cautiously approach Dean again, but every time he did, Dean stalked off without a single look. Cas regretted what he'd said, aware that he'd hurt Dean's pride as well as his feelings. But the idea of Dean coming across Crowley and not running away had scared him. Dean would be killed for sure, if he got caught by those giant teeth.

Sam seemed to understand, and kept telling Cas that Dean would come around, but Cas was getting anxious. Sure, Dean had always been a little rough around the edges, but he'd thought they'd become friends. Yet maybe that'd been an illusion. Maybe Dean would never see him as more than a stray. A dirty, scruffy, ratty creature that didn't know what it really meant to have honor and protect Welcome-to-Mordor. Someone who'd never have what it takes to be a hunter.

It was a bright, sunny, summer afternoon when Charlie decided that it'd be okay if they all went outside for a little while. Cas hadn't expected such a development, seeing as he hadn't been outside since he'd been taken into the other side of the windows. Sam and Dean, however, were jittery, crowding up beside the sliding door as Charlie let them out. Cas followed lastly, supposing he'd grown accustomed to regular food and so the outside didn't hold much appeal to him any longer.

Charlie was using a broom to sweep the small, concrete patio, Cas steering clear (he still wasn't particularly fond of brooms). Instead, he sat in the yard and watched as Dean went after a butterfly further off by the bushes—supposedly to hone his hunting skills. Sam had remained on the patio, rolling in the dirt as Charlie swept it. Cas didn't personally see the appeal—he knew what it was to be covered in dirt and didn't much care for it. Instead, licking his paw, he let the sun beat down on his dark pelt, warming him as he hadn't been since he'd become a housecat.

He could hear the familiar buzzing of nearby bees, and how Dean's fur scraped on the grass every time he slithered and vaulted up into the air, spinning as the butterfly flitted up out of his reach. The broom scratched against the patio, swishing the dirt away even as Sam's long fur swiped it back.

Dean landed somewhat sideways, balancing carefully on his back left leg.

The butterfly dipped and his haunches wriggled as he readied himself.

A single branch inside the bushes bent.

Dean was gathering his muscles to jump.

Heavy paw-steps pressed at the soft dirt beneath the foliage.

And Cas's legs bolted him forward.

It was too late by the time Dean finally noticed the crunching of grass behind him. Head turning over his shoulder, his ears flattened against his head, green eyes going wide. He knew there was nothing he could do just as well as the large dog pummeling toward him knew. Which left him frozen, body sinking into the grass as though trying to hide.

But that jaw was unhinged, and those teeth were glistening with saliva. The pounding of heavy feet shook the ground beneath Dean's paws as the galloping monster rushed him.

As its shadow eclipsed the sun, darkness passing quickly over.

Those teeth came down to snap, to take him and shake him and toss his about until he was nothing. Perhaps it was terror that Dean felt, but it all happened so quickly that it was difficult to know.

Because one moment it was all teeth and hot breath, and then it was a flurry of dark hair, hissing, and growling.

The sun's rays came striking back against Dean's coat, his paws gripping the dirt as he watched. As Cas barreled into the dog—Crowley—claws extended, ears back, lips snarling. He'd knocked the dog off balance, blood dripping from where he'd ripped at the monster's snout. He was still trying to fight it off, but it took only a moment for the dog to overcome its surprise and fight back.

"Castiel!" Charlie's voice screamed, Crowley's chomping maw coming down around Cas's back end. With a clamp, a shake, and a snap, Cas's dark body was sent flying across the yard, skimming through the grass before coming to rest near the middle.

He didn't move or get up.

Broom in hand, Charlie was running at the dog, her swiping motion as the stick knocked the yelping beast in the side snapping Dean out of his panic. Head swiveling, his attention fell to the dark shadow lying across the way, his legs pushing him to scurry across the grass, body low to the ground.

Dean had never smelled blood before, not that close. Not that much. And as the scent struck his nostrils, he found himself rearing back, his legs shaking some as he dared to look. As he saw the red leaking out and around Cas's normally clean coat. His hair was matted and flat, and the back end of his body was twisted into a position Dean had never thought was possible. And his leg—

Dean couldn't tell if it was still attached or not.

Cas's eyes were closed.

Charlie was there a moment later, Cas scooped up in her arms as she nudged Dean rather harshly toward the house with her foot. He stumbled inside, Sam already there and cowering just beside the door. Blindly, and unknowing of what was happening, Dean followed Charlie around the apartment. He watched her as she grabbed a towel from the closet and wrapped Cas up in it, the blood soon seeping through. She was then shoving her feet into a pair of shoes, grabbing her car keys, and heading out the door.

The silence that fell after the flurry was louder in Dean's ears than the growling and hissing as Cas had jumped at the dog. Left at the front door, he stared at the knob, willing Charlie to come back.

For Cas to come back too.

But they didn't. Instead, crouching on the mat, Dean waited. His shaking eventually came to a stop, his tail perfectly still as he stared at the knob. Sam came up and sat beside him after a while—after his own shock had worn away. Together, they simply sat, their food and water completely forgotten.

For hours they waited for the door to open again—for Charlie to come back. And it wasn't until the light had turned to shadows that they finally heard the twisting of the knob.

Jumping up, they watched with wide eyes as Charlie re-entered the apartment. As she slowly closed the door behind her, locked it, and padded across the apartment. She sat down on the couch, both Dean and Sam trailing after her and watching as she began to slip off her shoes.

Dean didn't understand, however. Where was Cas? Why wasn't Cas with her?

Shoulders hunching, he sniffed at her only momentarily. She smelled like Cas. But where was he? Quickly, he went to all the rooms. He looked under the dining room table, and on Cas's favorite chair—the one by the window that got sunlight in the afternoon. And he checked the cupboard under the sink that always hung a little open and that Cas liked to scurry into when he got startled. He checked the litter closet, and he squeezed his way behind the toilet in the bathroom. He looked behind the shower curtain, and inside the sink (even though that was Sam's favorite spot, not Cas's). He scurried back out into the living room and checked under all the couches. He stuck his head under each one, but he never saw those blue eyes staring back out at him. The cat tree was by the window, so he made sure every level was empty.

No Cas. No Cas anywhere.

He didn't understand.

Where was Cas?  _Where was Cas_?

Dean hardly ever meowed, as it was something cats usually only did to communicate with humans and he felt no need to participate in such acts. But Charlie had been the one with Cas, so she must know. If only she'd tell him.

Sitting down at her feet, Dean ignored Sam, who was up on the couch beside her, and set his paw on her socked foot. He yowled up at her, and he flexed his claw into her sock. She stared at him, but did nothing, so he yowled again. He yowled three times. Then four. Until she reached down and petted his head.

But that wasn't what he wanted.

He kept yowling.

Yet she never revealed where Cas was. Instead, she eventually went to her bedroom. She closed both Dean and Sam out, as she always did, and left them to the darkness of the apartment. Sam tried to comfort Dean, even though he was wondering where Cas was just as much. But Dean was determined to find him. He walked around to every room in the apartment, and he yowled as loud as he could. He called to Cas, thinking maybe he was hiding. He had to be. Where else would he be?

But Cas never came out, and Dean's yowling was only forced to wane when his voice began to give out. Jumping up on the window, he stared out at the fence.

Maybe Cas would jump up there, like he'd done when he was a stray.

Maybe that was where he was.

But Cas never hopped up on the fence, and Dean continued his rounds of the apartment.

He kept it up until light burst into the apartment once again, Sam following him every step until Charlie eventually emerged from her bedroom yet again. Dean and Sam both danced at her feet, meowing equally, but still she didn't produce Cas. Instead, topping off the food dishes they hadn't touched, she slipped her shoes back on and left yet again.

The silence kept Dean at the front door until she came back.

She had a cardboard box in her hands when she did finally walk back through the door, Dean instantly assaulted by Cas's familiar scent. He wanted to see what was inside the box, if Cas was in there. He'd only have to peer in through one of the little holes. But Charlie carried the box right into her bedroom and closed the door.

Dean yowled helplessly outside.

"You can't go in there," Charlie muttered as she slipped back out a while later, her foot blocking Dean's entry as he tried to shimmy by. He didn't understand why he couldn't see Cas, and why Cas wasn't coming when he was calling. For all their disagreements, Cas had always come jumping up when he'd told him to—be it for training or perimeter duty.

Cas had  _always_  come.

He continued his rounds, yowling and yowling even as Sam gave in and started to eat. Dean refused, making sure his voice was as loud as he could manage. Until Charlie got angry with him, telling him to shut his mouth. But still he kept it up. Until he was simply sitting outside Charlie's bedroom, yowling and scratching at the corner of the door.

"I'm going to kill your cat," Dorothy, one of Charlie's frequent visitors, was saying as they sat down to dinner. Sam was listening to them from under the table, one ear trained above while the other listened to Dean's echoing meows from down the hall.

"I've never seen him act like this before," Charlie mentioned. "He must be really worried about Cas. I'm actually a little concerned about his behavior. He hasn't eaten since it happened, and he cries himself hoarse all day and night. I mean, he's a cat, but I haven't even seen him sleeping."

"Well why don't you let him in your room?"

"The vet said Cas has to stay away from the other cats for at least a week. That they'd be too rough on him in his condition."

"Well, maybe if Dean just sees him, you know. Maybe he'll calm down a bit."

"Maybe…"

Later that evening, after Dorothy had gone home, Charlie came down the hall and picked Dean up from where he'd been scratching at the carpet beneath the door. Holding him against her hip, she went inside, muscles straining as Dean tried to wiggle his way away from her. She kept a tight hold on him however, walking him to the corner of the room where, in a box laden with old clothes and a pillow, Cas was resting.

Upon spotting him, Dean froze, green eyes wide as he stared.

"See, he's here," Charlie murmured, stroking Dean's back comfortingly. "He just needs some time to get better, and you can't be in here with him." Shortly after, she stood and took Dean back into the hall, his orange body struggling in her hold as soon as Cas was out of sight.

Dorothy's idea had been a bad one, however. Because Dean's behavior only got worse.

He spent the rest of the evening practically screaming outside Charlie's bedroom door, his claws managing to dig up some of the carpet. Taking hold of him, Charlie—despite how bad she felt about it—was forced to lock both him and Sam in the bathroom. Dean's behavior was setting even Sam on edge, who kept pacing back and forth, and she didn't want to risk either of them destroying her apartment.

Lying down, she tried to sleep, but Dean's yowling was so loud that it kept her up. And then Sam was at it sometimes too, and it was almost too heartbreaking to take. But she didn't know what she was supposed to do.

Pulling her pillow up around her ears, she tried to drown it out, her eyes scrunching closed.

Yet, it soon became impossible to ignore. Not because Sam or Dean got louder, but because a third voice was soon interjecting itself as well.

Turning in bed, Charlie leaned over the edge of her mattress, peering down into Cas's box. He could hardly move, and the drugs he was on were supposed to have him pretty thoroughly knocked out. Yet there he was, a cone around his neck and a bandage wrapping his back leg, not even able to move his head, but meowing. It was weak, and hoarse, but that didn't change the fact of it.

Sighing, Charlie gave in.

Heading out into the hall, she opened the bathroom door, not surprised at the speed with which Dean darted out. Shimmying along the ground, he crawled into her bedroom, orange body not even hesitating as he went right up to the box, lifted himself up, and slunk inside. Sam had jogged after, his head propped up on the edge of the box as he stared at them. Charlie crouched down beside him, her head in her hand as she watched.

Watched Dean lay down right behind Cas, his paws pulled up under his body as he quickly began licking at Cas's shoulder. Shortly after, he simply laid his chin down, Cas quieter now and Dean finally silent for the first time in days.

"Maybe the vet isn't always right, huh?" Charlie murmured as she reached out and rubbed Dean's ear. "You know he saved your life, don't you? He's your little guardian angel."

It took Cas a long time to get better, despite his efforts to speed up the process. Through it all, Sam and Dean stayed with him. They didn't get rough or aggressive, and one of them was always with Cas. Usually it was Dean, who only left him to eat and use the litter box. And when Cas's cone came off, Dean was there to clean him up, tongue working away and leaving the hair on the top of Cas's head sticking up. But Cas's soreness from being injured and the drugs kept him pretty incapable, so Dean was always helpful.

When Charlie took him back to the vet to have his stitches removed and his leg checked out, Dean refused to leave the cardboard box. So she took them both, Dean brave in the face of the vet and always keeping a green eye on Cas.

The "okay" was finally given for Cas to be allowed loose around the apartment, so long as he stayed on his medication and wasn't too active. He spent most of his time lounging around, Dean and Sam at his side and ready to help him limp around the room if necessary.

When the bandage was finally removed, revealing what little was left of Cas's leg, he seemed to grow depressed. Cas had been under the impression that it was the bandage that made if difficult to walk, not that his leg had been removed. But Dean never gave up on him. They spent many a days lazing around in the sun, Dean always attentive to Cas's needs and encouraging him to be active.

"C'mon, Charlie put a catnip pillow in the cat tree," Dean said, bouncing some as he danced around Cas, who was lying in a square of sunlight shining in through the living room window. Dean's suggestion garnered no response however, Cas simply turning his head away and saying nothing.

Not one to give up, Dean went to the cat tree himself, grabbed the pillow off the middle level, and bounded back over to Cas. He dropped it in front of him, but Cas didn't even react. His blue eyes were static, staring at nothing, and Dean slumped his shoulders, discouraged.

He refused to leave Cas however. Lying down beside him, he laid his paw on Cas's shoulder and licked his cheek, hoping to help him in any way he could. As was expected, Cas did nothing, but Dean hoped he appreciated it. Cas didn't clean himself much anymore, so Dean tried to make up for it. Sam too, when he wasn't taking up Dean's rounds and keeping things in line otherwise.

It was a clear night, Cas sitting in a shaft of moonlight with Dean lying beside him, when he finally spoke for the first time in days.

"It's impossible, isn't it?" he asked, Dean snapping his head around to listen. Sitting up quickly, his entire focus was on Cas. Cas, whose shoulders seemed to sag, and whose head was bowed. "Being a stray was bad enough, but now I… now I'll never be a hunter."

"Cas…" Dean scooted close to him.

"I can barely walk."

Leaning in, Dean pushed the top of his head into Cas's cheek, as if trying to hold him up. "You don't need to be a hunter, Cas," Dean murmured. "You're better than a hunter."

"How does that even make any sense?" Cas's blue eyes flicked to Dean, sad and hopeless.

"I was wrong," Dean explained, licking Cas's cheek once. "You were right, about the dog. About running away. But you didn't even though you should have. You saved my life; you did exactly what a hunter was supposed to do."

Cas's attention fell to the floor.

"Besides, you weren't ever supposed to be a hunter anyway," Dean continued. "You've heard Charlie, haven't you?" He scooted his whole body up against Cas's, purring some. "You're not a hunter, you're an angel."

"I don't even know what that is."

"It's something greater than a hunter," Dean tried to explain, even though he didn't know any better than Cas. "It's a cat that protects, and is brave, and makes sure to save everyone around him. An angel is a… it's a cat that gives himself up for the others around him. An angel is selfless."

Cas's blue eyes finally peered back up at him, oddly open and hopeful for the first time in weeks. "You really think that's me?"

Dean purred louder, licking Cas's forehead. "I  _know_  it is."

Even in the weeks prior to the accident, Dean had never heard Cas purr. But, softly at first, he did that night. He bumped his head with Dean's, and returned Dean's forehead lick with one to Dean's nose. He purred louder, until their purring was filling the whole living room with thrumming.

Until Dean was certain that Cas was finally okay.


	23. When You Left Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have been best friends since they were in diapers, but when Cas leaves to study abroad during college, and subsequently cuts off all communication with Dean, no one can understand why. Until he comes home again. Dean confronts him, confessions spilling from them both.
> 
> Rated T for language.

"I don't even fuckin' care anymore," Dean spat as he chopped at his scrambled eggs with a spatula. His movements were sharp, Sam frowning from where he sat across the bar, watching. "If he wants to stay there for another year, then he can. I don't give two shits what he does." His chopping got more aggressive, the sound of metal on metal zinging against Sam's temples.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I thought he would have told you." Sam hadn't meant to spill the beans about Cas's plans. He'd just assumed Dean would know that Cas had told his sister, who had told Jessica, who had told Sam, that he'd applied for another year abroad.

"I haven't talked to Cas in six months," Dean growled. "Which is fine. He can stay in fuckin'  _Japan_ ," stab, "with his new  _friends_ ," bang, "and his super great  _life_ ," twang. "He's  _clearly_  too busy to bother telling his  _best friend_  that he's never coming home."

"I'm sure he'll come home," Sam tried to comfort. "He has to in order to graduate. Anna told Jessica that she hardly hears from him herself. He's probably just really busy." As if that should excuse his silence. "It's probably really exciting, being overseas…" Sam knew his argument wasn't at all convincing.

"Too exciting to send  _one_  response on facebook?" Dean slammed his spatula down on the counter, holding up a single finger in the same moment. "I've messaged him tons of times, Sammy. And you know what I get in response? A bunch of notes telling me that he's seen the message, but never replied. Six months, Sam! I've messaged at least  _once_  every week, usually more. And he  _never replies_." Sam could see the way Dean's lower lip trembled—probably both in anger and distress. He wanted to comfort his brother, but he didn't know what to say. Dean and Cas had been best friends since they were in diapers. They'd been neighbors their whole lives and shared an apartment together during college. It didn't make any sense, the fact that Cas was acting this way.

"He's probably just assuming you'll understand," Sam weakly tried to reason. "I'm sure he's not meaning to act this way." Because Cas was one of the most thoughtful, considerate people Sam had ever met. Sure, he had his social intricacies, but he always thought of others before himself, before his own feelings. Especially Dean's.

Cas was usually always thinking of Dean.

"No, you know what? I don't care anymore." Dean threw his hands up in the air, as if defeated. "Fuck him." Sam knew what Dean said wasn't true, his frown creasing further as Dean stomped off to his room.

Reaching over the bar, Sam turned off the stove, listening to the way the eggs continued to sizzle in the silence. At first he thought Dean wasn't going to return, that maybe he should take it as a hint to leave. But as he was slipping his light jacket back on over his shoulders, Dean finally reappeared in the doorway.

His entrance was stiff however, his breathing shaky, and Sam found himself even more concerned than before.

"He did it," Dean murmured, voice sounding almost dangerous. "Today."

"Did… did what?"

"Cas," the name seemed to rip from Dean's lips. "He un-friended me. On facebook." Sam gaped, his eyes bugging. Maybe some people didn't place much weight in social media, but for someone to un-friend was as good as saying you never wanted to see that person again. Even acquaintances were usually okay with being facebook friends.

"Dean, there has to be a re-"

"No." Dean shook his head, eyes blinking quickly. Sam could see the dampness around his lashes, his whole chest aching for him. "I don't care. He can stay in Japan forever. I hope he never comes back." Turning, Dean retreated back into his bedroom, the quiet way his door clicked closed telling Sam how much worse this was then when he'd slammed it previously.

Standing in the silence for only a moment, Sam was only jolted out of his daze by the muffled sound of Dean's crying—sobbing—through the walls.

Which only made him angry.

Lips twitching, Sam headed down and out of the apartment. Slamming himself down into his mother's prius, he pulled his phone from his pocket before heading straight to the source of the problem. He typed vigorously.

" _What the hell is your fucking problem?_ " Sam wasn't known for being profane, even on the internet, but what Cas had done was completely ridiculous and he wasn't going to just sit by and let it happen without an explanation. " _And don't ignore me! You know what you did! I know you're getting these messages and I'll keep sending them until you reply! And if you block me, I'll send them from Jessica's phone! And Anna's! What the fuck is your problem?!_ " He was typing so fast that he almost missed it when a response wedged its way in.

" _I don't know what you're talking about, Sam._ "

" _Don't give me that bullshit,_ " Sam typed, growling as he did. " _Dean's been trying to talk to you for months and then you un-friend him? What kind of a dick have you become?_ "

" _You don't understand._ "

" _What is there to understand? Do you have any idea how upset he is?_ "

" _I'm sorry if he's upset, but this is for the best._ "

"What?" Sam furrowed his brows, pausing before he began typing again. " _How could this be for the best? I thought you and Dean were best friends! He's in his apartment crying right now, do you realize that? That's how much you've upset him! And if I know Dean, this isn't the first time he's fallen apart since you started treating him like shit!_ "

He didn't get an immediate response after that, the ellipsis that signaled someone typing blinking in and out before Cas finally decided on a reply.

" _This is for the best,_ " was all he said, Sam gaping down at his phone.

" _Fuck you, Cas._ "

Sam was un-friended by Cas shortly after. For a few days following, he pestered Anna about Cas's behavior, but she said she didn't know anything about it either. Dean and Cas's fallout was kept from their parents, who still got together regularly, but there was no fixing whatever it was that had broken between Cas and Dean. Sam knew Dean had tried to text Cas one last time, asking what, exactly, he'd done to make Cas this upset with him, but he never got a response.

Months passed, but Dean never seemed to recover. Sam could tell in the way his smile was too wide, and how his eyes always seemed to fall away. He knew his brother and Cas had been close, but his inability to get over it really seemed to hammer the whole thing home. Sam asked him about it one night, when Dean was a little tipsy and more willing to open up. Dean said it was like he'd lost a part of himself, his other half, before he'd broken down again.

It was then that Sam really understood that there was more to this whole thing than Dean and Cas being best friends. His older brother was in love with Cas, who'd sufficiently broken his heart. But there was nothing either of them could do. Cas refused to talk to them.

All Dean could do was try and get over it—if that was even possible.

**oOo**

Cas knew it was a cheap move, but he didn't feel like he had any other choice. If Dean was away at his parent's house, then he had to take his chance. Get in, get his stuff, get out again. He wouldn't even have to see Dean. The thought didn't sit well in his stomach, but it was either that or face everything that had happened, which he couldn't do.

He knew he couldn't handle that sort of rejection. He'd never recover. At least this way he was keeping it inside. Maybe it was like a balloon, one that would eventually pop, or wither and die, but it was better than being stabbed through.

Right?

Shaking his head, Cas slammed his key into the familiar doorknob and twisted, pushing his way inside shortly after. The small apartment was dark, but he knew the familiar layout. Walking from the small entranceway, through the kitchen, and to the hall, he ignored his initial desire to peer at Dean's door, instead focusing solely on his own. He was there to get in, get out, and get gone. A mission. He didn't have time for distractions.

Couldn't afford them.

Reaching his bedroom, he pushed his way inside, flicking the light on in the same motion.

His heart went immediately into his throat.

Frozen in the doorway, it took a moment for Cas's thoughts to catch up. It wasn't that his room was changed from how he'd left it. Really, it was quite the contraire. All was exactly the same, with the exception of one thing. The bed. The blankets were askew, rumpled and wrinkled, but that was hardly what caused Cas's shock. No, it was the cause.

There was a man in his bed. Lying there with Cas's pillow hugged to his chest.

And not just any man.

Dean.

The lights igniting the room stirred him however, Cas watching with growing amounts of horror as he began to wake up. Dean wasn't supposed to be there. Anna had said he was going home for the Winchester's end of the summer barbeque. That he'd planned to stay the night so him and Sam could help their father cut down a dying tree out back the following day.

He wasn't supposed to be home.

 _This wasn't supposed to happen_!

Dean was sitting up, blinking against the glare as he finally began to look around. His attention fell almost immediately to Cas, those familiar green eyes fluttering before eventually widening into alertness.

Cas pursed his lips.

"Wha…" Dean made no move to get up from the bed, the blankets tangled in his legs. "What are you doing here?"

"You're not supposed to be here," Cas sputtered stupidly. "You're supposed to be at your parents' house." It wasn't the right thing to say. He knew it wasn't as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late.

Dean's shoulders dropped, gaze narrowing. "Gee, Cas, glad to know you planned this out perfectly so you could avoid me. Please, don't let me down gently." Throwing the blankets aside, Dean finally pushed himself to his feet, the fact that he'd been sleeping in Cas's bed going without comment.

Smoothing out his shirt, he started to head toward the door. Toward Cas.

"Good to know you're back," he muttered as Cas stumbled aside, his tone laced with sarcasm. The red, salty streaks under his eyes didn't go unnoticed by Cas, but he didn't dare mention it as Dean headed out into the hall. Instead, he stared determinedly at the bed, his heart beating fast in his chest.

And maybe, if Dean had kept going, he might have gotten through it. He might have gotten his things and left. But he should have known better. Dean had never been the type to shy away from controversy.

"No, you know what?" Dean turned in the doorway, his finger raised as he gestured to Cas. "What the  _fuck_  is your problem?" He actually jabbed Cas in the chest, causing him to stumble back a step.

Cas gave no response.

"If you're pissed at me about something, then why the hell didn't you say anything?" Dean continued, his voice getting louder as he spoke. "Though to be honest, I don't know what I fucking did! It's a little immature, the way you've been acting, don't you think?!"

Cas knew Dean well enough to know a rhetorical question when he heard one. He didn't respond, instead looking to the floor. He told himself that if he let Dean get it out of his system he'd eventually march away. That was what Dean did. He stormed off. Cas just needed to wait.

He just had to keep his own control until then.

"Really?" Dean's arms dropped to his sides, his shoulders slumping. "Even now, with me standing  _right in front of you_ , you're going to ignore me?" Still nothing. "What the fuck happened to you, man? You leave the country and you become some stuck-up douchebag?" Not even a look in Dean's direction. "I thought we were friends! Friends don't treat each other this way!" Silence. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" Dean stepped forward, as if to try intimidating him, but Cas didn't move. He simply stood, refusing to look up. "If you hate me that much, then just say so!"

Cas's hands balled into fists at his sides.

Dean snapped. He'd always been somewhat prone to physical bouts of violence when provoked, but he'd never—not once—harmed a hair on Cas's head. Not intentionally. But he couldn't take it, Cas just standing there like he didn't even exist.

Like he didn't matter.

"Fuck! You!" Dean pushed him. Arms coming up, he shoved Cas by the shoulders, forcing him to stumble back. Gasping, and clearly shocked, Cas finally made eye contact, Dean's whole body shaking as the tears that never seemed far at bay streaked down his cheeks. "If you really do despise me, at least have the decency to say it to my face!"

Maybe it was the push, or maybe it'd been the years holding it, but Cas could feel it all bubbling up. Lips shaking, his mouth pulled into a snarl, his own body pushing him forward before he shoved Dean back. Harshly, causing the other man to fall into the doorframe.

"You don't know anything!" he shouted, his deep voice scraping at the walls as Dean gaped at him, green eyes wide. "This isn't even about you! So shut up, Dean! And just leave me  _alone_!"

"Clearly I have something to do with it!" Dean yelled back, pushing himself back into the fray before shoving on Cas again. "You asshole!"

"You're the asshole!" Cas pushed him once more, Dean growling as he caught himself on his heel.

Fist coming back, Dean let it fly, months of pent-up frustration fueling it as it slammed into Cas's face. With a crack, Cas's head flew back, Dean stumbling forward. He could see the blood running even as Cas's hands came up to catch it under his nose. Blue eyes bulging, Dean saw the danger flashing in them even as he tried to catch himself.

Neither of them were exactly small. Both were around six foot with muscular builds, having worked out together for years during college and high school. Which was why Dean fully expected it to hurt when Cas's fist slammed into the side of his face. Tripping to the side, Dean slammed into Cas's dresser, one of the stupid snow globes Cas collected falling before it shattered against the carpet.

It was the bee globe Dean had gotten Cas in seventh grade for his birthday—the one that Cas still claimed was his favorite.

The sight made Dean even angrier, his head whipping around as another growl ripped from his throat. Charging, he slammed his whole body into Cas's, the other man "oomphing" before they were crashing to the floor. Dean landed with the upper hand, the breath knocked out of Cas by the fall.

Fist coming up again, Dean blasted it into the side of Cas's head before self-defense could even be considered.

And still the tears leaked from around his lashes.

Cas knew Dean would keep throwing punches, and so he raised his arms up against the incoming blows, guarding his face. In the same moment, as Dean's knuckles knocked at him, he bucked his hips, pushing Dean off balance until he'd tumbled down in-between Cas's legs. Using the momentary pause in the assault, Cas pulled his leg back and kicked out, his foot lambasting Dean in the stomach.

Shimmying out from around him, Cas scrambled to his feet as Dean hunched over on the floor, coughing violently while holding his stomach. Cas couldn't bring himself to care however, his chest heaving as blood continued to run out of his nose. From a cut on the side of his cheek as well—not that he noticed either.

"You don't know anything!" he yelled, his voice, were it a higher register, perhaps hitting a screech. At it were, it sounded like rocks scraping on a screen. "It was better this way! You don't understand how hard it's been! I didn't want to do this!"

Dean was catching his breath again, his head turning so he could glance up at Cas as he heaved in a few great breaths.

"You think this was easy?!" Cas's hands were fists at his sides, anger and distress causing them to tremble. "You think I wanted things to end up this way?! I didn't! I just couldn't take it anymore!"

Dean was slowly getting to his feet, his anger knocked out of him as he listened. That, and the desperation in Cas's straining voice sobered him some. He'd never heard Cas sound that frantic before. Never since they'd known each other had that kind of tone come from between Cas's lips.

"I can't live like this, Dean! It's not fair and I refuse to let it control my life! I won't stand by and be depressed about it anymore! I  _can't_!" His breathing was still labored, Dean pursing his lips as he tried to understand what was happening. "I'm sorry if what I did hurt you, but I've been hurting for  _years_!

"Do you have any idea how I felt, watching you day in and day out, waltzing around with women like it meant nothing?! Like it was just so easy! Listening to you in the other room with them?! While I sat on the sidelines and couldn't do a thing about it?!"

"What are you even saying?!" Dean finally found his voice. "Why do you care what I do when I bring women back to the apartment?! It's none of your fucking business!"

"Because I don't want there to  _be_  any women, don't you get that?!" Cas's breath was huffing, his lips faltering some as the words tumbled out. "I want to be the only one you come home with," his voice had softened, like the final admission was almost too shameful to even say. "I want to be the only you come home  _to_."

Those blue eyes flicked to the floor, Cas's hand coming up to wipe at his nose. The blood was beginning to dry, but it still smeared across his cheek.

Dean, on the other hand, was struck speechless. Mouth falling open, he stared at Cas—at his best friend—in complete shock. Because he'd never fathomed, never  _allowed_  himself to fathom, that such an admission could even come from between those familiar lips.

"And that's why I can't be with you anymore, Dean," Cas continued, his voice shaking now, and hurt. Heartbroken, maybe. "I can't take the pain anymore. It's too much, just being around you."

"Cas-"

"And I'm sorry I messed up our friendship," he continued, his whole posture seeming to slump further the longer he spoke. "I tried to get over it, over you, I tried, but I can't help it. I can't…

"I can't help that I fall more and more in love with you every day we're together."

"Cas, stop," Dean tried to interject.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Cas's eyes were closed, his voice beginning to trip. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm-"

"Cas, stop!" Dean said somewhat harshly, finally finding his feet. Stepping forward, he laid his hands atop Cas's shoulders, who immediately tried to shake him off, as if to get away, but Dean tightened his hold. "Look at me, Cas."

"Dean, please, don't make this harder than it already is." Cas continued to try and get away.

"Cas, stop trying to avoid me, please!" Dean pushed him up against the wall, if only to get his attention. "Just stop this!"

"Dean, don-"

"I was sleeping in your bed, Cas!" Dean stated plainly, aware of the way his own heart was pounding in his chest. Spurred by nerves perhaps, or excitement. A terrified kind of thrill, in any case. "I've slept in it… in it almost every night since you left."

Cas's blue eyes were finally focused up on Dean's own, searching his face as they twitched back and forth.

"I don't understand…" he muttered breathily, finally stilling in Dean's hold.

"That's not normal, you realize that, right?" Dean said quietly, his cheeks flushing as his hold on Cas loosened. "When you came in tonight, I… I was upset," he sighed, " _crying_ , because it… because the bed, it… it doesn't smell like you… anymore." He finally allowed his arms to fall away, his hand rubbing at his elbow nervously.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I missed you, Cas," Dean murmured. "And that I was waiting for you."

"Dean…"

"Why do you think none of those girls ever stuck around?" he continued, ignoring how his right eye was swelling from their fight. "I've  _always_  been waiting for you." He focused up on Cas again. "Only you."

Admitting as much was like a great load being lifted however, and Dean couldn't help the way the tears came back to him. He'd always been prone to crying when he was stressed—a fact he'd always taken great pains to hide. And even as it happened then, he reached up to wipe the evidence away. To stop Cas from seeing despite the fact that, if anyone knew Dean well enough to understand, it was the man standing in front of him.

"Don't," Cas stepped forward, it being his turn to close the space between them. "I'm sorry." He gently pulled Dean's hands from his face, replacing them with his own. Thumbs gentle, he wiped the salty tears away himself.

"You keep s-saying that," Dean stuttered, smiling bitterly as he took Cas's wrists in his own hold.

"I'm sorry for distancing myself from you. I didn't realize that…"

"That I was hurting just like y-you were?" Dean offered.

Cas pursed his lips, his hands shifting until they were holding Dean's cheeks, the tears falling free. "I love you, Dean."

Pushing forward, Cas pressed his lips to Dean's. The taste was salty from the tears, and irony from the blood still smeared across his own face, but that didn't make it in any way less than what Cas wanted. It was more than he'd thought he'd ever get; more than he'd thought Dean could ever give him.

Because Dean was kissing him back, lips plump and slightly chapped, but needy in the way they pulled at Cas's own.

"Cas," Dean murmured as they pulled away some seconds later, if only to catch their breaths. Lashes fluttering, Dean tightened his grip on Cas's wrists, their noses brushing as hot breath splashed between them. "You're not…" Dean gulped. "You're not really going abroad for another year, are you?"

The pain the idea caused was apparent in the mere tone of Dean's voice.

"No," Cas assured, his lips dancing closer to Dean's. "I'm not leaving. I'm never leaving you again."

They both spent the night in Cas's bed that night.


	24. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forced to walk home in the dark, Cas is followed by two suspicious men. Rushing into a phone booth, he dials the only number that comes to his panicked mind and accidentally, or perhaps conveniently, gets Officer Dean Winchester.
> 
> Rated T for adult themes

No, Cas's night wasn't going all that well. Not only had he been forced to sit through an entire evening listening to his older brother, Gabriel, argue with his older sister, Anna, but the waiter at the restaurant had screwed up his order. Then he'd gotten charged too much and, to top it off, dropped his phone in the sink when he'd gone to the bathroom, destroying it.

All he'd really wanted to do was go home. But, if things hadn't been bad enough, he'd walked out to his car only to find that he'd locked the keys inside. Part of him—the impatient, fed-up part—had nearly convinced him to get a rock and break the window to get inside, but, thankfully, logic had wedged its way into his brain before he could. His apartment was only a fifteen-minute drive away, so he could probably walk home in thirty to forty and come back. It was a chilly October night, and he had his jacket, so he'd probably be alright.

Which was how he'd ended up hunkering his way down the sidewalk with his hands shoved in his black trench coat, shoulders stiff as he strolled beneath the glowing streetlights. He wasn't downtown per se, though that was where he'd come from. He was back behind the majority of the commercial buildings, beginning to trek through the housing complexes interwoven on the edges of the main shopping strips. A few cars passed him every now and then, but overall it was a quiet, slow walk, only a few clouds drifting in front of the stars. There was no moon.

Cas wasn't stupid, however. He was alone, and it was dark, and he knew walking home probably wasn't the smartest thing he could have done. But it wasn't as though he did so regularly, and he was a pretty big guy, so he figured he'd be alright. Yet, despite this, he was still alert, still listening.

Which was probably what allowed him to hear the soft footsteps trying to sneak up behind him.

Upon first hearing it, he'd paused in his strides, his insides seeming to go cold as he'd listened. He'd hoped that all he'd heard was the echo of his own footsteps, but when the noise sounded of four feet instead of two, and had come to a shuffling halt quite unlike he had, he'd known better. The fact that those who were behind him had stopped at all was just as adequate a sign that he was being followed as the stalkers coming right after him would have been.

Blood seeming to freeze inside his skin, his thoughts picked up as he shoved his feet forward into walking once again. His hands were balled into fists in his pockets, and he almost jumped into a run when he heard the way his pursuers once again picked up their pace. But he wasn't confident that he could outrun them, despite being in pretty good shape. And running would only alert them that he knew they were there (though he couldn't decide whether this was good or bad).

Quickly, his thoughts flew to all his options—because he knew he had only moments. He didn't have minutes, or a long stretch of road. They'd be on him if he didn't act then and there. Focus quickly darting from side to side, he took in the lonely street, the flickering lamps. The hollow echo of emptiness and the darkened windows of the houses. None of the buildings around him appeared to be awake—there was no one he could run to for safety. If he tried, he'd be caught.

Maybe if he just gave up his stuff. But all he had was his wallet and broken phone. Would that really be enough to tempt them?

Were they muggers or after something else?

Wasn't there anywhere he could hide?

He was trying his best to stay calm, but panic had shot up through his throat the moment he'd realized he was being trailed. There was a chance they'd really hurt him, or worse. He had to get out of there, do something, defend himself.

Could he take on two people? People that could potentially be full-grown or have weapons?

Was that a chance he was willing to take? Did he even have a choice?

Desperation spurred him to act, to pick up his pace and search for any potential safe haven. That was when he saw it—the old phone booth sitting in the shadows between street lamps. Taking the moment, he bolted forward, the street whipping by as he darted up the sidewalk and slid inside the booth. Slamming the plated glass door closed behind him, he huffed in and out erratically as his fingers fumbled with the latch to lock the door. After some struggle, he finally managed to snap it closed before he dared look up.

The shadows of the two that had been following him were standing back now, silhouetted in the dark. Were they talking to each other? Contemplating what to do? Cas didn't know. The latch wouldn't last if they tried to get in and he knew he hadn't given himself a lot of time.

But his phone was broken!

Attention snapping to the side, he spotted the payphone, his shaking hands fingering the change in his coat before he'd even realized he'd stuck his hand back in his pocket. Wedging himself as close to the phone as possible, and bending down some so as to try and hide behind the blue opaque panels making up the bottom two thirds of the booth, he yanked the receiver from the old docking station and held it to his ear, only slightly relieved when he heard a dial tone.

Gulping, he quickly pulled out what little change he had before slipping it into the rusted slat, running through what numbers he knew in his head. Before he could even reasonably decide what one to dial, his fingers were moving, punching at the faded numbers as his body sank down against the inside of the dirty booth. Until he was sitting on his butt, as if hiding would actually deter the villains outside.

"Pick up, Gabriel, please," he whispered desperately to himself, the ringing of a phone on the other line jolting his nerves every time he heard it.

"Hello?"

"Gabriel!" His older brother! He'd know what to do!

"Uh… no. This is Dean."

Cas felt his whole chest collapse. "No, this has to be Gabriel. I was trying to call Gabriel." His voice was getting shaky, and loud, and he swore he heard footsteps right outside the booth.

"Uh, well, I'm not Gabriel. You must have the wrong number." The man on the other line sounded a little irritated, and Cas was really beginning to panic. How had he dialed the wrong number at such a crucial time? Why hadn't he called 911? What had he been thinking?!

"Oh god, oh god." Cas hadn't meant to say it out loud, but someone had tugged lightly on the door. Stretching his leg out, he shoved it against the edge of the door's trim, hoping his strength could hold it closed better than the lock.

"Dude, you alright?"

"No, no I'm not alright!" Cas could feel his breathing beginning to grow uneven, his mouth dry as he gripped the phone with white knuckles. "I was walking home and these guys were following me and I dropped my phone in the toilet so I hid in a phone booth but I'm out of change and I didn't mean to call you even though I should have called 911 and now they're right outside and they're trying to get in and-"

"Whoa, okay, okay, where are you?"

"I'm somewhere on East Boulevard I think." He didn't know! They were shaking the door again so he stained his leg to keep it shut tighter.

"Okay, calm down, I'm gonna- Please insert more change to continue your call."

"No!" Cas pulled the phone back, looking down at it before pressing it to his ear again. "Oh, shit, no, you can't be serious!"

"Please insert more change-"

" **No**!" He was alone. He had no money, no way to contact anyone, and the guys outside were still trying to get the door open. Dropping the phone, he left it to dangle back and forth as he situated himself more securely—in order to keep his foot pushing against the booth door. But his whole body was trembling, and they were shaking the door harder and harder with every moment.

"I don't have anything!" Cas yelled out, a last ditch effort to get them to go away.

"Open the door!" The voice was even, violent, and Cas felt his nerves skyrocket even more at the sound of it. These people were real, they weren't just shadows, and they really were after him. He'd just wanted to go home. Back to his small apartment and his plants and his dog. He didn't have anything they could possibly want.

"Open the fuckin' door!"

"Please, I really don't have anything of value! I swear!"

"Open the goddamn  _door_!"

Cas closed his eyes. He put all his strength into his legs—into holding the door closed. His teeth were gritted, and his fingernails were digging into his palms as he held them in fists at his sides. The whole phone booth was shuddering as they banged on the outside of it, Cas aware that it wouldn't take much to break the glass. That once they did, they could easily reach in and undo the latch. And yanking the door open would be that much easier.

As if reading his mind, the two outside began to slam at the glass in the upper part of the door. And though Cas was refusing to look, he could hear it cracking. Each snap was like a rubber band popping inside his chest, until he'd given up holding the door closed in favor of huddling in the corner of the phone booth. Legs pulled up to his chest, he buried his head in his knees and tried to get as far away from it all as possible.

But then the glass was breaking, and the door was cracking open, and he could feel the breeze from the night air assaulting him like a whip slashing against his skin.

He was cornered.

He was trapped.

There were hands on him, grappling at his coat and yanking him up. He wasn't going to be left to his small space, to the safety it had provided. They were pulling him from it, into the fray, and before his brain could even define what he was doing, he was lashing out.

He grabbed one of the shadows by the face and slammed their head into the side of the booth. They stumbled, but then Cas felt a blow down across his back. A fist, perhaps. He stumbled forward, but got his balance enough to whip around and punch the other shadow some where on the upper body. His back as aching and he knew his blows hadn't been enough to knock either of them unconscious, but it gave him enough time to vault out of the phone booth.

Just in time to be taken from behind.

With a heavy topple, Cas saw the pavement rush up to meet his face, the weight on his back greater than his own. The impact as his head hit the ground blinked out his vision, his eyelashes fluttering against the involuntary darkness some moments later. But remaining conscious was in no way a blessing, Cas unable to do anything as one blow after another was landed against his stomach, his back, his chest. His legs even, and one to his face that knocked his head back and forced him onto his side.

He could feel the pain ricocheting all over his body, flashes of light seeming to flick across his vision with every landed hit.

Until the whole world was bright, and he tasted copper in his mouth, warm liquid dripping down his lips and chin. Maybe his cheek too. There were too many sensations, too many striking nerves, for him to really understand anything concretely.

But that light kept coming, and then there was a screech and suddenly Cas was cold. The rebound from no longer being hit allowed him to roll involuntarily onto his back, his fading vision taking in a sharp swinging motion above his head.

There was leather, and torn jeans. Boots maybe? And freckles and green eyes, and a voice that registered in his head as something soothing, but indecipherable.

Before there was nothing.

**oOo**

Cas woke with a start, surging forward before he could stop himself. Which had been a mistake. A zinging pain rang up his whole body and his brain felt like it was going to tip right out of his head as he fell back against he sheets. He blinked, trying face the surging light of the room despite how his eyes failed to adjust. There was a general feeling of empty whiteness around him, and he was laying in something stiff yet soft. A bed maybe, but not his own.

"Hey, man, don't strain yourself." A voice—one that Cas recognized but couldn't place. "Just stay still, the doctor said he'd be back in a minute."

"Where am I?" Cas asked, his voice scratchy as he tried to sit up again. But a pair of hands gently pushed him back down, fighting them seeming far beyond anything he was capable of.

"Your in emergency," that oddly familiar voice continued, Cas deciding that keeping his eyes closed was probably best. His whole head was throbbing, nearly making him nauseous, which only added another layer of agony to the ache on his face and the rest of his body. "I brought you in, since he ambulance didn't show up fast enough."

"Who are you?" Cas was slowly beginning to recall what had happened—the phone booth, the ambush. But that was hardly an explanation.

"My name's Dean. Dean Winchester. You called me by accident, from the payphone. I called 911 when you did, but I was afraid the cops wouldn't get there fast enough, not faster than I could, anyway."

Cas was able to crack his eyes open just a slit. The harsh fluorescents of the room were difficult to fight, but he persevered. He looked to the direction from where the voice had been coming from, able to make out a vague silhouette sitting beside him.

Green eyes flashed through his head.

" _Hey, man, you alright? Shit!_ " That freckled face, so close. " _I'm going to get you to the hospital, don't worry!_ " Had he been picked up, or had the world fallen away beneath him? " _I'm so sorry! I tried to get here sooner! Shit!_ "

"How…?" Cas gulped, his throat dry. "The two guys…"

"Don't worry about that." He couldn't see Dean's face, not then, but a hand came out and held his arm gently. "I'd wanted to knock them out, but they got away. Police are looking for them, though I don't know what the odds are of catching them." Did he sound somewhat down about the fact? "As soon as they saw the giant crowbar I pulled out of my car, they turned tail." There was a short laugh, that hand falling from Cas's arm. "I kind of wish they'd stuck around. I'd have beat the shit out of them."

Cas blinked, tears coming to his eyes—not spurred by emotion, but because of the sheer strain he was putting forth in attempts to keep them open.

"Hey, you should rest," Dean said, his deep voice oddly comforting. "The doctor said he'd be back, and they've already got you on pain meds and checked you out. You're safe here."

Well, that was why he was having so much trouble, Cas realized. Pain meds always knocked him right out.

"The police'll probably want to talk to you tomorrow, so you should get as much rest as you can. You're brother and sister are on their way here, you're parents too. So, rest assured, you're well taken care of."

Cas wanted to say something, wanted to respond, but talking seemed like such a huge strain, the light of the room already beginning to fade again. Yet, as it did, he was reminded of the phone booth, and the evening darkness, and like a wave, a chill came over him. He wanted to open his eyes, but he couldn't, and fear began to creep up into his bones.

He didn't want to feel it, that cold vulnerability. He didn't want to be alone.

"Hey, you're alright." That voice.  _Dean_. "I'm here." And that hand on his arm again, there was warmth, and Cas was able to take a deep breath.

Because he was safe.

**oOo**

"It's just like you to get into a scrape like this," Gabriel was saying as Cas slowly spooned pudding into his mouth. It was difficult, however, because of the scrape on his lip, and he could only eat from the tip of the spoon. "You're lucky it wasn't worse."

"Thanks," Cas muttered, his voice even gravellier than usual due to disuse. "Because I totally planned this."

Gabriel didn't appear the least bit amused by his response.

"You should have just called one of us from the restaurant and we would have taken you to get your spare key," Anna said, frowning as she did. She was sitting in the chair beside the hospital bed, Gabriel standing at the end. His parents had gone out to get some breakfast for them all, Cas thankful not to have so many eyes on him.

"That would have been the smarter thing to do," Cas acknowledged, setting the pudding aside. Hospital food wasn't exactly doing it for him, even if it was just pudding.

"You're lucky that cop came to help," she continued.

"Cop?"

"Yeah, that Dean Winchester guy," Gabriel took over. "Off duty cop. Probably saved your life."

"I hadn't realized he was a cop…" Dean hadn't been there when Cas had woken up the second time. Apparently he'd given his report of the incident and left. Which, Cas supposed, was reasonable. There was no reason for him to stick around.

"We met him when we got here." Anna again. "He was all business."

"That would make sense." Cas supposed that explained why he so readily put himself in danger to save him. That was what cops did, even if they were only armed with a crowbar.

"Said you called him by accident. Which I thought was weird because he was in the area." Gabriel then gave Cas a look like he was stupid. "You called mom and dad, do you realize that? His home phone number is only a number different than theirs—you hit nine instead of six. And he said you called looking for me? Why didn't you call 911?"

Cas sighed. "Because I was panicking and didn't know what I was doing?" What other explanation could there be? He'd been trapped in a phone booth and dialed the first number that had come to mind, looking for the last person he'd seen. Maybe it did make a little sense.

"It was lucky he called mom and dad," Anna interjected, looking directly at Gabriel. "Local number. If he'd tried to call one of our cells and gotten it wrong, then Officer Winchester wouldn't have been the one he'd gotten. He was close by. Which was what saved Cas's life." Because Cas lived in the same city he'd grown up in.

"Still should have called 911," Gabriel huffed.

"Yes, well, I didn't, and it's done." Cas leaned back in the bed, his head throbbing still. Closing his eyes, he made it clear he was done talking, the other two focusing their conversation on each other. Cas's mind trailed to Dean for a moment, again wondering about the man, but fitful sleeping shrouded in dark memories distracted him for most of the morning and afternoon, until he was finally allowed to check out.

He didn't have any broken bones—just a concussion and some minor injuries. After giving what little information he could to the police, he was able to go home. Despite attempts to catch the culprits, Cas was confident the police would likely come up with nothing. It was done, they hadn't gotten his stuff, and he didn't feel it was a personal attack. The most he could do was heal and move on. Gabriel wanted justice, but Cas was content to forget it'd ever happened.

His parents had given him a ride home, and all his family had insisted that one of them stay with him, at least for one night, but Cas had absolutely refused. He was sore, but he wasn't disabled. Ultimately, they'd left him, if not by force, and Cas had been left to his small home in peace. He spent the evening preparing for work the following Monday, determined to get back in the saddle as soon as possible.

He was only able to accumulate a few hours of sleep, managing to convince himself that it was because he'd gotten so much sleep the day before and not because of some other reason.

Rising bright and early Monday morning, he ignored how exhausted and beat he was in favor of getting dressed and getting down to his small flower shop in the shopping district of downtown. His dog, an Australian Shepherd named Bee, rode shotgun in his little ranger pickup, as usual, and spent her day with him as he busied himself watering plants and putting together arrangements. It wasn't until it neared closing time, around four-thirty, that Cas let his two other workers leave before setting up post at the counter to wait out the last half hour.

His face was sore, and his body ached with bruises, but he was determined to go about his life as usual despite his injuries. And without the pain meds that knocked him out so thoroughly. He was in pain, but it was a good distraction, if nothing else. The store wasn't too busy and Cas was starting to think he was going to go the last half hour without a single customer.

Until, ten minutes before close, a single man walked in. He was dressed in a full uniform of dark navy, a gun and other assorted tools strapped to his belt. His black shoes tapped against the floor as he walked in, bowlegs giving him a kind of cocky saunter.

"Welcome to Bee's Flower Shop," Cas said, as he always did when he caught a customer walking in. "Can I help you with something?" The cop, as Cas quickly realized he was, was looking around, only paying him any attention once he'd taken in everything.

"Yeah, I'm looking for something for someone who was… Hey, wait a minute." The cop approached the counter, expression curious as he did. "You're… You're Castiel Novak!"

Green eyes. Freckles. "You're Officer Winchester!" Cas caught on in the same moment. Blinking, he gaped, unsure what else to say and suddenly hyper aware of the deep cut on his swollen lip. That, and how handsome Officer Winchester looked as he smiled, and how bright his expression was.

"That's amazing!" Dean laughed. "I definitely did not know you worked here. I honest to god was not expecting to run into you." He leaned casually on the counter, Cas trying to offer a small grin despite how his injuries hindered him. And as pain shot through his cheek, his shoulders slumped at how awful he must look. "You seem to be doing okay, up and around and everything. That's good."

"Yeah," Cas nodded, deciding to give up on the smile. "I don't like to sit around, doing nothing. This place would fall apart around my ears."

"You own this place?" Dean pointed to the counter. "Nice. My brother comes in here to get anniversary stuff for his wife and is always going on about how nice the owner is." Still with that dazzling smile.

"Thanks." Cas tried again to grin, but it came out as more of a grimace. "I do what I can."

"Yeah, don't we all."

"And thank you," Cas blurted suddenly, his stare falling to his shoes. "For what you did. I wish there was a way I could repay you or-"

"Hey, man, don't worry about it." Dean waved him off, his expression softening some. "It's my job, even when I'm off duty. I was happy to help."

"Still…" Cas furrowed his brows, looking back up as he did. "Allow me at least this small favor? Whatever it is you came in here to get, it's on the house."

"That really not-"

"Please."

Dean's smile had finally dropped, his lips pursing. Cas hadn't meant to make him uncomfortable, and almost went to say as much, but Dean held up his hand and shook his head, his expression once again taking on that soft look. Cas thought his whole heart was going to beat right out of his chest.

"That sounds great," Dean finally agreed.

"What were you looking for?" Cas asked, relaxing some as he stepped out from behind the counter and into his element. He loved plants—loved the smell of them, the feel, the care it took, the arranging he did for bouquets (though most of those flowers he had delivered in every morning). His shop was small, but Cas liked it that way. He liked the customer interaction and the personal vibe from locals he got in return. Finding just the right thing for what people wanted always made his day, and doing that for Dean would be like icing on top of the cake.

"Uh, well, actually," Dean rubbed the back of his neck, seeming abruptly uncomfortable, "I'm not entirely sure. I, uh, don't know this person very well, but…"

"Hmm." Cas crossed his arms over his chest, his forearms stained with dirt from working all day, as was his green apron. "Well, is this person a friend or a potential… romantic interest?"

"Um, well…" Cas was pretty sure Dean was blushing. Brows furrowed, he cocked his head to the side curiously, but didn't pressure the man further. "I guess I'm just testing the waters… or something."

"Okay…" He wasn't giving Cas much to go on. "Well, are you looking for a bouquet, or a plant…?"

"Ah, I guess… what do you think is better?"

Cas pursed his lips. "That depends. Bouquets are accepted as more deliberate, flamboyant gestures of… whatever it is you're trying to get across, but plants last longer. They require care, but they're a gift that will be a reminder every day."

"Right…" Dean had turned away, to one of the display tables near the counter. He was softly fingering one of the leaves of the plants, Cas ignoring how his own eyes wanted to wander down Dean's whole figure. "Which one would you prefer?" he asked, turning suddenly.

"Me?" Cas's eyes went wide as he placed his hand on his chest. "I guess…" He looked to the table nearby, on the other side of where Dean was. Sitting there, he had a plethora of plants in small pots, set up nicely and vibrantly blooming—enough to draw anyone's attention. "I guess I'd prefer a plant." He shrugged, straightening one of the pots as he did. "They're just flowers I suppose, but I feel like a plant means more. It's not just going to die in a week. If someone really wants it, then they have to take care of it."

Dean had come up beside him at the table, green eyes glancing to the plants as well. Cas's own focus flicked up from the table to Dean's profile and back again a few times, only stopping entirely when that pretty green stare had come up as well. They stared at each other for a moment, Cas swearing the air in his lungs was being sucked out by a vacuum.

"What about these ones?" Dean turned back to the plants, pointing to a few pots holding a tiny blue flower. A blossom surrounded in even tinier florets, green leaves sprouting out underneath.

"That's- That's Bluebird," Cas managed to sputter out, gulping as he reminded himself to remain professional. Dean was there getting flowers, after all, and probably for the woman he was falling for. Cas needed to get a grip. Just because the officer had saved his life didn't give him the right to fawn all over him.

"Do you like this one?"

"I like all flowers," Cas assured, deciding the best way to smile was with just one side of his mouth. "But yes, those are very pretty."

"I thought so to. The blue…" Dean's words trailed off, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared hard at the flower. "Yes, I'll take one of those."

Cas picked out the best pot of the bunch and held it up, still with his crooked smile. "Then it's yours."

"Ha, thanks." Dean took the plant, Cas forcefully ignoring how their fingers brushed. "Yeah, this one is really good. Perfect."

"I'm glad you like it."

"You sure I can just have it?"

"Yeah, it's fine." Cas waved him off. "Saves me having to check you out. I was just about to close anyway. Bee!" Cas called across the store, the rapping of the dog's nails clattering closer until the shepherd eventually poked its spotted head around the corner. "Time to go home."

"Bee?" Dean asked as the dog came up, tail wagging as it looked up between the two. "You named your dog after the store or the store after the dog?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." Cas raised his eyebrows, not meaning to be so flirty and only realizing it too late. Dean didn't seem to have noticed however, laughing lightly and bringing out that thousand-watt smile again as he bent down and patted the dog on the head. Bee wagged her tail harder at the attention, nosing at Dean's palm until Cas corrected her.

"I'm glad to know you're doing good though, after what happened," Dean said as they headed out the door, Cas pulling out his keys to lock it behind them as Bee pranced around to his truck. "You look a lot better."

"Thanks," Cas muttered, self-consciously reaching up and fingering the scab on his lip. "Though you really did see me at my worst, so I suppose it could only get better from there."

"Nah." Dean really did throw around that smile too flippantly. He was going to kill someone. "I've seen plenty worse."

"I bet."

For a moment, then, they stood awkwardly outside the shop—Dean with his plant and Cas fingering his keys.

"Well, I better go," Dean decided abruptly, gesturing back to his patrol car. "Can't dawdle too long…"

"Right, of course." Cas nodded. "Thank you again, really. I don't even…"

"Like I said, don't worry about it. I'll see you around." Dean was backing up toward his car.

"Right, of course." Though part of Cas knew that was hardly likely. The idea was oddly downing, and he made sure to take in the last of Dean's vibrant smile as the cop turned to leave. He went to his truck, waving as the patrol car backed out of the lot and headed on down the street. For a moment, Cas simply stood, but eventually he pulled himself together. Shaking his head, he opened the passenger door for Bee before getting in himself. He headed home, ignoring the outline of freckles and green eyes that hovered in the back of his mind.

By the time he'd changed into something more comfortable, winding down had exhausted him to the point where he had absolutely no appetite. Instead, after feeding Bee, he finally taken some pain meds before collapsing on his bed.

Sleep came quickly, but it wasn't restful. He dreamt of dark alleys he'd never been down, and headlights chasing him into a run. Of strange silhouettes standing guard at any escape and deep voices telling threatening words. Until he was cornered and alone and asking for help from anyone who might hear. Because they were pulling him up and beating him and he wasn't going to get away this time.

Dean wasn't going to come.

Surging up, Cas gasped, the nightmare fading with an echo that left him sweaty and breathing hard. His whole bed where he'd been lying was damp and his clothes were sticking to him in chilly strips. Pulling his shirt away from his chest, he tried to calm his breathing, his nerves, but it didn't seem to be helping. The medication still had him nauseated and his vision was splotchy. The voices of the men who'd assaulted him bounced around in his head, never seeming to cease, and his body seemed to only keep sweating.

He felt sick, and was soon shaking. He tried forcing himself to calm down, to close his eyes and even his breathing, but when he did, all he saw in the dark were those silhouettes. It wasn't working, he wasn't calming down no matter how he tried to rationalize it all. Like his body was carrying his brain away into a tizzy of things he couldn't control. Maybe it was the memory, or the medication, but his body wasn't heeding his thoughts, the sheer stress of it causing his heart to race.

Maybe he should call someone. Was he having a panic attack? Should he go to the hospital?

Despite being unsure what he was doing, Cas reached over his end table for his cordless house phone. His shaking hands could barely hold it, and he couldn't see that well in the dark, but as he pushed the call button, the numbers lit up. Fingers somewhat clumsy, they began to dial, even as his brain tried to reason out who he should call.

The receiver was soon at his ear, the burring of a ring on the other line sending his heart to his throat every time it sounded—just as it had the night he'd been attacked. And the longer it took, the more his nerves snapped.

Until, finally, there was a voice.

"Hello?" He was groggy sounding, as if he'd just rolled out of bed, and Cas glanced quickly to his alarm clock. It read 1:04 in the morning, a layer of guilt blanketing over his already tightened anxieties. It didn't help that, really, he hadn't meant to call Dean. It'd just sort of happened, and the sound of his voice was so comforting that he didn't dare hang up. But he didn't know what to say either.

"Hello?" Dean said again, Cas feeling shame mix in with his guilt. Because this was bordering on creepy, really. What was he? Some kind of stalking phone breather? "Is someone there?"

But if he didn't say something, Dean was going to hang up.

All he wanted was to hear his voice. It shot through the shadows in his head like a blade, cutting away all the ghosts of what had happened. Perhaps because that was what Dean had really done that night.

"Uh…" Dean sounded uncertain, Cas already surprised he hadn't simply hung up. "Is this… Are you… Is this Castiel?" Cas's eyes went wide. "Castiel Novak?"

How had he figured it out? Could Dean hear him breathing? Did he have distinctive breathing? Should he say something or hang up?

Cas's sheer humiliation at the situation was more than making up for his previous anxiety, though that wasn't to say he was any less easy about the situation.

"Look, it's okay if it's you," Dean continued. "I get it. I've been there too." Pause. "Once while I was on duty, I was scouting this building and the guys I was hunting down locked me in. They tried to burn it down with me in there, and I remember calling my brother while the cops tried to get in. I thought his voice was going to be the last one I ever heard, and for nights afterward I would sit up and listen to his voicemails. Just to make sure I was alive."

Cas gulped, finally finding his courage. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Was that relief in Dean's voice? "Like I said, I get it. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm…" Cas bent forward, cradling his forehead in his free hand. "I'm sorry I woke you up. I didn't mean…"

"Really, Cas, it's fine. I got tomorrow off anyway. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes. I think I was just… having a minor panic attack. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. Really, it's not a problem. Are you alone?"

"Yes. But, I mean, I live alone." It wasn't out of the ordinary. "I'm okay, I promise. I think it's stopped now." Mostly due to hearing Dean's voice, but he wasn't sure he could say that out loud. Not that Dean probably hadn't inferred as much.

"Are you sure? You shouldn't be alone, especially on the meds you're probably taking."

He sounded so worried, his concern pulling a small, half-grin to Cas's injured lips. "I have Bee, don't worry."

"That's not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be."

Dean sighed. "Look, I know you have family close by and-"

"I can't-"

"- _and_  I get why you wouldn't want to call them. There was a reason I only listened to my brother's voicemails instead of actually talking to him." It was embarrassing, and would cause needless worry. "But I already know so, I mean, if you want, I can… come over, or whatever."

Cas blinked against the darkness. "Come over here? To my house?"

"Look, you're the one that called me in the middle of the night and then didn't say anything. So don't-"

"No, that's not what I- I was just- I could never ask that of you, Dean. You've done enough for me already."

"It's no bother," Dean assured. "Really."

"No, that's really not necessary," Cas reiterated despite how his whole body had flooded warm at the suggestion. Having Dean there would be a relief, but that was hardly acceptable. He couldn't invite the police officer over every time he couldn't sleep. Besides, Dean probably felt he was doing his duty, a service, by suggesting such a thing, and Cas wasn't going allow himself to become an obligation.

"Look, I'm giving you two options here." Dean's voice had become stern, formal even. "Either you let me come over there and check on you or I'm going to call an ambulance and have them do it. This isn't something you should be dealing with alone."

"You just said yourself that you'd spent nights listening to your brother's voicemails?"

"Sure, but I never said I'd been alone. My fiancé had been there."

 _Fiancé_. The word rolled around in Cas's head, his whole chest dropping for reasons he knew were completely unfounded in the first place. Because of course Dean was married—he was a good-looking cop.

"It's really not necessary," Cas said again, aware that his voice had gone a bit colder, "but if you feel that strongly about it, I'd rather just one cop show up than an entire ambulance." Because Dean would only be coming over as part of his job. He was a serviceman; taking care of people was what he did. Cas was no one special to him.

"Good." Dean sounded satisfied, Cas giving out his address a moment later before the line between them was killed. Speaking with Dean had calmed Cas's anxieties considerably, but replacing them was a new sense of deflation.

Shaking his head, Cas pushed the feeling away. It wouldn't take Dean long to get there. He needed to focus on "looking well" so the other man could return home to his own bed as soon as possible. Cas wasn't going to be an inconvenience.

Getting up, he changed out of his sweaty clothes before going to the bathroom and brushing his hair. He splashed his face, but the red rings still circled his eyes. There was nothing he could do for lack of sleep, however, so ignoring it seemed the best option. Going out to the main part of his small house, he cleaned up a few of the things he had lying around—clothes, bills, dishes—just in case Dean stepped inside for a moment before leaving again. He was, therefore, distracted until he heard the rumble of an engine coming into his drive, Bee barking and rushing to the door.

Cas didn't bother waiting for the knock, instead opening the front door as Dean's form bent out of his big, black car (Cas could tell, even in the dark, that it was a classic Impala). Dean waved as he approached, Cas slow in doing the same. Bee barked again as Dean approached the doorway, but she was more excited than affronted at that point.

"Wow, you do look exhausted," Dean commented as he reached the door, his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. He was wearing a pair of matching sweat pants, the insignia of their local police department etched into the thigh.

"Thanks," Cas drawled. "But, exhausted or no, I'm clearly fine." He gestured down to his own form. "You have nothing to be worried about." Perhaps it was his tone, or his body language, but Dean's expression visibly dropped, brows furrowed. Which immediately made Cas feel bad. Because there was no reason to be rude, no matter Dean's reason for being there.

"Well… that's good, I guess…" Dean said awkwardly, shifting his weight. It was a chilly evening and Cas almost convinced himself to ask Dean inside. Almost. But even as the thought crossed his mind, redness flushed his cheeks.

He cleared his throat. "I appreciate you coming all this way, but I really don't want to be an inconvenience." He glanced down at the ground, ashamed of his own weakness. "It's only a…a nightmare. I'm sure it'll pass in a few days." Hopefully.

"Yeah, sure…" Dean paused before continuing, the way his voice burst forth causing Cas to jump and look up. "Hey! Actually, I, uh, I… have something for you." Holding up his hands, he silenced Cas when he went to question before backing down off the porch and going to his car. Pulling the driver's side door open, he reached in and across the middle, retrieving something as Cas made forceful attempts not to watch as he bent over.

Skipping back up to the front door, he held out the small pot to Cas, who stared at in some confusion and didn't reach out to take it.

"Was it unsatisfactory?" he asked after a moment, the blue flower seeming in perfect condition to him.

"What? N-no." Dean shook his head. "I, uh, the flower is great. I was just… Okay, wow, this is not going as smoothly as I imagined in my head."

Curious now, Cas's eyebrows knitted together as he returned his attention to Dean instead of the plant.

"Look, I came in earlier looking to get a flower or something, and I honestly didn't know you worked there. And so I got it anyway, because I thought, well, it'd be kind of clever to give it to you anyway, but now that I actually am, it's kind of stupid."

"Wait, what?" Cas didn't understand in the least.

"I went to get this flower or whatever…" Dean sighed. "I went to get if for you. As, like, a get well gift or something." Dean was blushing, that was clear as day even with only the light from the yard lamps. "As an excuse, I guess…"

"An excuse?"

"To- to see you again…"

Cas blinked. "Oh…" No, he definitely hadn't been expecting this.

"Stupid, I know," Dean muttered.

"No, it's not stupid," Cas said, more rushed than he'd intended. He almost went to reach out, though what for he didn't know, and paused with his hand only slightly raised in Dean's direction. "It's not stupid at all." In his chest, his heart was beating fast, mostly because he wasn't sure he believed this was actually happening.

"It's not?" Dean dared peek up at him, his blush stretching all the way to the tips of his ears. In fact, it was so adorable that Cas almost smiled. Until the pain in his lip caused him to flinch. "Are you okay?" Dean asked, far too worried.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Cas assured. "I just…" Taking a deep breath, he dared himself to be brave. Like Dean had been—both just then and when he'd come to his rescue. "What I mean is," reaching out, he took the plant gently from Dean's hold, managing a crooked grin as he did, "thank you."

Dean smiling only a little. "Thank you for caring, or thank you for the plant?"

"Can't it be both?" Cas asked a little more flirtatiously than he normally would have. But, really, this all seemed like such a strange dream. Maybe he  _was_  still asleep, and it was the thought of Dean that was preventing his nightmares.

"Well, depends, are you actually going to take care of that?" Dean gestured to the Bluebird.

"I'm a florist, of course I will."

"Well, yeah, but, when you do," Dean cleared his throat, "will you… think of me?"

It was Cas's turn to flush. Really, it was embarrassing. Who'd have figured they were two grown men. "I think I could… probably arrange that."

"Awesome." Dean smiled fully.

And so the awkward pause came in their conversation, Cas fingering the potted plant nervously. Until a single thought that he knew he shouldn't be asking popped into his head. But he asked anyway, because apparently he had no control over his mouth.

"What about your fiancé?"

Dean's smile dropped, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion.

"I mean- I didn't- I shouldn't have-"

"Oh, the phone!" Dean finally recalled. "Uh,  _was_  my fiancé."

"Ah…"

More silence.

"Do you-"

"I should-"

"-want to-"

"-go."

"-come in?"

Dean's eyes grew a little wider. Green. Very green.

"I mean, never mind, you're right." Cas shook his head. "You should go. It's late."

"I'd come in, I mean, if you wanted me to."

Cas blinked, unsure what to say despite how he'd originally been the one to invite the other man. Rather, the way his heart was crawling up his throat was making it difficult to process anything.

"You don't have to," Cas eventually managed to sputter out.

"I want to."

For a moment, they simply stared at one another, blue and green and silent as they contemplated what they were saying. Until, finally, Dean smiled again, finding his voice first.

"I wanted that one, you know," he gestured to the plant, "because it matches your eyes." Cas bit the inside of his cheek. "Cheesy, I know, but I couldn't get them out of my head, after that night. Not the most, uh, romantic thing ever, seeing as you were being, well, you know, but I kept worrying about you. You, and your eyes."

"That's not cheesy," Cas assured quietly, too much of a chicken to admit that he'd been haunted by a certain shade of green since that same night—among other, more terrifying things.

"What I'm trying to say it that, I don't want you to be up all night because of what happened. If it… if it'll make you feel better, I'll come in. I won't try anything," he took a step back. "Promise. I just don't want you to be…" To be suffering, and remembering, and thinking about it for hours without being able to rest.

Cas allowed his small half-smile, daring to be brave. "That… would be nice, I think." More blushing, even as Dean released that thousand-watt smile. Stepping back, Cas made way for him to enter, adding one last thing. "I feel safer, hearing your voice."

Dean's expression softened, his hand landing on Cas's shoulder as he approached. "I'm glad, Cas."

And so Officer Winchester went in, and they stayed up a few hours talking before Cas finally fell asleep. Dean watched him as he did, curled up on the couch under a blanket, and was content when he didn't wake till morning.

Cas had a few rough nights following, during which he always ended up calling Dean, who came over right away, every time. Until, finally, he was over more often than he wasn't.

And so Cas didn't have to worry about nightmares anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my tumblr - demondogdean.tumblr.com


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